


Drawing back your soul

by hikarufly



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Human Doctor (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-05-25 03:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 34,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6178894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikarufly/pseuds/hikarufly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara's got a new job, in a new school. One of her new colleagues looks extremely like the Doctor... is he just a lookalike or there is something else going on here? Why is the Doctor not answering the phone?</p>
<p>English is not my first language :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New job, old faces

Clara woke up, and felt like she hadn't really slept at all. New job, new life, new everything. Well, not new apartment, of course, but she was determined to give herself a real chance this time.

Working in Coal Hill School was good enough, but only just. Every square meter of that damn building reminded her of Danny Pink, the secret snogging, and that one time in the stationery deposit... she shook her head and felt even more nervous. She had decided she had had enough of missing him so intensely because of everyday little memories found in every corner of her working place, in every colleague or student, especially now that she had surpassed pure sadness and loss, and was finally reconciled with what had happened.

She had tried to get into a teaching job in some other school, to get a career upgrade without exaggerating on ambition, even though she had plenty. She had finally found a nice grammar school that needed a new English teacher and was more than willing to take her on board. She only had to go to the school to get the grips of administrative stuff and meet her colleagues, so she was not up against an intense day, and yet needed all her good will, nice manners, enthusiasm and so on to fit into the team and make the best of impressions.

While she was doing her make up she thought about the Doctor's comment about her having three mirrors, and smiled less nervously. It had been only a couple of days since she had heard from him, and of course he had been oddly mysterious about planets and things and aliens... she hoped to hear from him in about a week, when she would at least settled and anyway before the academic year started, so that she could force him into a small holiday as relaxing as it could be with one like him before getting on with the new job.

“You can do it, Clara.” she thought, convincing herself of what she already believed in. She took the tube, without much trouble getting to the school on time. Nobody was outside but a couple of janitors or caretakers, judging by the uniform they wore. She thought of the Doctor again and smiled more broadly. One of the two men in front of her touched his cap in a polite greeting. “Nice start”.

She got into the school, a nice, plain yet elegant 19th century building modernised in his interior enough to give the school all that was needed. She followed the signs directing her to the teacher's room, a wide comfy space she had seen during her second interview with the headmaster and members of staff. It had sofas, table and chairs, a fridge, boards and even a small sink. She got into the room and said hello to the few people sat or standing around: more women than men, but they were a varied group: a girl of her age with caramel-coloured skin, an Asian man in his forties, a white guy a bit older than that, an Indian woman with a lovely violet sari... her smile froze on her face when a familiar, Scottish voice asked to be permitted in. She made a step forward, since she was still standing on the door, and looked at the man who had just greeted everyone as she had done: a flare of grey, curly hair, bright blue eyes, long fingers stroking his salt and pepper short beard in slight tension. He had fine features, strong and fierce eyebrows and was smartly dressed in a plain but elegant suit, and an equally simple yet splendid tie. His dark coat was resting on his arm, while an old fashioned marked briefcase.

«Doctor?» she asked, in a whisper. The man frowned, looking puzzled.

«I beg your pardon?» he asked, a look on his face that revealed he couldn't really recognize her.

«Sorry, my mistake... my name is Clara, Clara Oswald. I'm new.» she said, thinking that maybe he just resembled him. Or that she had to play along with the story and talk to him later on and discover the plan.

«Basil, Basil Nardini.» he presented himself, in a sort of adorably awkward yet gracious way. Clara repressed a laugh just in time. What a code name! They shook hands. His body temperature was so different from the usual low one...

«I'm the new English teacher.» she said, smiling. She felt strange: it was like there was something odd about him. Was he really the Doctor? They were close enough for her to smell his cologne, only just, and it was... different. Maybe it was not even a cologne, or... she was confused.

«Art teacher.» he said, a hand on his chest for a moment.

She was about to ask for more information, but the headmaster came in. He welcomed all, old and new, and they started the briefing, the group meeting and they were now all concentrated on their tasks. The morning was almost exhausting, even though they mostly sat and talked. Basil Nardini was either a very convincing Doctor acting out an alias, which was more than improbable or unbelievable, or a real normal human being, charming to say the least. Clara had tried not to stare, but had registered every move.

When they were all excused, some of the teachers suggested lunch together, and both Clara and the so-called Basil joined them. While they walked to the nearest pub, another nice add to the new places Clara could spend time in, she looked at that Scottish man even more intensely than the few hours before. He didn't have the Doctor's ring, a token from a distant future and planet. He seemed reserved and shy as the Doctor, but was not as grumpy or presumptuous, yet he was determined, focused, and really, really elegant. Clara had almost been stunned by his gracious ways, words and manners: a gentleman in the very sense of the word.

«Something wrong?» he asked. She woke up from her brooding thoughts and smiled.

«No, no, no...» she denied, shaking her head way too intensely.

«You were looking at me, I thought I had stained myself or something.» he explained, smiling as if he had to apologize.

«Oh, well, I was just...» she started to say, blushing slightly. He stopped looking at her, but not smiling.

«Don't worry, I sometimes look at one spot or person in particular while I'm thinking of something else completely. Sorry if I interrupted an important stream of conciousness or something.»

She didn't know how to reply and simply followed him and the others to lunch. They sat outside, since the summer was not over yet, with a lovely view of the nearby public park. They ordered something light, something ample, a couple of beers (since they didn't have to get back to work for the day). They were all nice and intelligent, some brighter or more passionate, some more extrovert than others. They exchanged numbers and behaved like normal, everyday people, but Clara, sometimes, was really somewhere else. She had excused herself to go to the bathroom and had tried to call the Doctor: no answer. She left messages, more than a couple of them actually. One of the girls in the group asked if she had boyfriend issues, but Clara, after a quick involuntary look at “Basil”, shook her head and smiled.

«Single, for now.» she explained.

«A nice, lovely girl like yourself? No way!» replied the Maths teacher, the one with caramel-coloured skin.

They talked a little bit more, and Clara had relaxed again until a standard iPhone ring-tone interrupted a chat between the men of the company: Basil answered the phone. He broadly smiled, excused himself and went a few paces away, to speak more freely. Clara tried not to listen, but as soon as she heard part of that conversation she decided she really had to talk to him. If it was a joke it was getting way too strange or long, and if it was a plan, was really odd.

«Hi, darling. No, everything is fine, the colleagues are really nice. How is your day going?» he asked, with the unmistakable smile you get on your face when you hear from someone you love.

«I'll talk to you later. How about dinner? I can cook.» he said. He laughed at something the other person on the phone said. «Well, you know what I mean... You can help me not make a disaster. See you tonight then. Can't wait. Bye.»

The last few words had a different sound to them: anticipation, intimacy, longing. Clara felt a familiar fit of jealousy paining her heart, but refused to acknowledge it to herself.

When the little group parted, Clara followed Basil and stopped him, grabbing his arm, before he got to the pavement on the other side of the road.

«Okay, Doctor, joke's over. What is this all about? Where is your ring and your TARDIS?» she asked, in a bossy, direct way. Basil was puzzled.

«A joke? My ring?» he asked, smiling still but really stranded. Clara saw that he was not lying and was getting really scared.

«You... who were you talking to at the phone?» she said. Basil felt a bit offended, but he could see she was in a state, or something.

«My... well, we've been dating for a few weeks.» he explained. «Very nice woman, I assure you.»

Clara felt like crying but restrained herself.

«I guess maybe I look like someone you know, and I think you should try and talk to this guy. Do you want me to call you a taxi or something?» Basil said, ready to help.

«No, thanks, I'll get the tube home. I am sorry, I was rude...» Clara said.

«Don't worry, it's been an intense morning, new job and all. I bet you didn't sleep well, God knows I was too nervous to rest properly.» he said, in a comforting, gentle voice, offering a hand as if he wanted to slightly stroke her arm, but wasn't in the position to do so.

«Yeah, I think I'll only rest this afternoon, or try at least.» she replied, scratching the nape of her neck. He looked like someone who could not so easily fooled.

«Call him, or I believe you won't be able to relax.» he said.

«I couldn't reach him. I'll... I'll call him again.» she simply said, sighing.

He took a small card holder from his pocket and gave her a business card: “Basil Nardini, painter”, with studio address and phone.

«If you need anything, just call. I don't like new friends to be upset.»

She took the card and nodded, with a timid smile.

«Thanks...» she whispered, lowering her gaze for a moment. His smell was so different...

«See you tomorrow, Clara.» he said, waiting for her to say goodbye and then walking away in the other direction only when she got down the to the tube's station.

 

The Doctor's phone kept ringing, and no one was answering.

 


	2. "Dark night, full of terrors" - oil on canvas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see how Basil's doing...

Basil scratched the tip of his nose with the back of his right hand, and looked in front of him with a little sniff. The brush between his fingers was dark with nebulous colour. Looking at the big canvas in front of him, he sighed. Dark paint stained the palms of his hands and even part of his beard and hair, when he had inadvertently passed his fingers between or on them. His old weary t-shirt and jeans looked like a Pollock's homage. The only light in the room came from the big windows, whose curtains and blinds were open, letting the orange lamppost light inside. Looking around, he found the small glowing-in-the-dark alarm clock he had bought a few months before in a little flea market and sighed again: 3.07 am and no sign of drowsiness.

He had had a feeling the night was going to get a bad ending, and he was not wrong. His date arrived a little bit early, which was strange, even if she wasn't the kind of woman late to every meeting. She had asked about the new job, the new colleagues and made no mention of her own day, as in fact she did often, for she like to hear him speak and was glad to let him express himself, as he was so shy on a daily basis or in a crowd. Yet, he sensed that there was something hidden behind her eyes. They cooked together without that playful atmosphere that usually sprang between them. They ate and drank a glass of wine or two, than forgotten their glasses on the table, and got to the living room.

Basil lived in a nice little terraced house, with kitchen and dining room on the back of the first floor, a living room with library on the front with a windowsill next to the window-door that let into the garden. Upstairs were the bedrooms, guest's and host's, bathroom, and last but not least his own study, faced south. He also had an attic, where nobody was allowed.

They talked a bit, but she was distant, and he had realised it soon enough. Caught off guard, she decided to mean business, getting closer to him on the couch, letting her hand slip under his shirt and her lips on his. He was not usually the one to take the first step, but was indeed the one that did not mind taking charge once they started. Her moves, touch and kisses were wilder than usual, as she was eager to discover something or to get to the point so to leave the place quickly. He tried to enjoy the moment and kill the fret by taking good care of her, but her attempts to stop the foreplay as soon as possible were almost unbearable for him after a bit. She had unfastened his belt and unbuttoned his trousers, as well as his shirt, and had sat on him with her blouse open on her breasts, her skirt up to her hips and her thigh highs representing no obstacle to remove. He almost wanted to stop and ask her what was wrong, but she had sunk his face in her breast and her hand in his boxers, and so words and thoughts evaporated quickly. She was definitely more focused, for she quickly removed her knickers and lowered his boxers, getting rid of the only direct obstacles between them. His date lost control only when she got what she wanted, riding him moaning and screaming as he was groaning and swearing even, the only swearing he ever did. If he had not been in post-orgasmic bliss he would have heard her moaning another name while she eased herself to her climax too, little after him.

When she got her breath back, and was able to think properly, she quickly sorted herself and started to talk. She was nervous and shaky and was not making a lot of sense. He was a bit scared at first, then he understood. She was dumping him. She had to be sure how different it was with him, because she had met her ex a few days before, and she didn't mean it at first, but they talked about the good old times, one thing let to the other and they had basically ended up having a quick one in the bathroom of the little café they had just met in. She thought that it had been a mistake, no doubt, but then the day after the ex had appeared on her working place, and shagged her again in a little restroom nobody used to go. She had then accepted his invitation back to his place, but at this point Basil had got the drift, even if she was babbling about them screwing against the wall or something. She was dumping him just after a normal night with him, after she had just had sex with him.

He was so surprised at first and then so disappointed he had nothing to say. She apologised with no great effort and with a nervous smile she kissed his cheek and said farewell, asking him not to call her again. She was simply blocking his number, of course, just one step out of the house, as he was still looking at a little spot on the floor.

When the silence and the shivers of cold down his spine had got him back to reality, he regained conciousness of what had happened, who he was and where he was. Leaving the dinner leftovers and the sofa, he got upstairs had took a long, hot bath. He wanted to get rid of her perfume on his skin. He almost felt contaminated. She had left the place completely, as she had never left anything there: no attachment, only benefits, apparently. The disappointment was stinging as a splinter. He soon realised he had not been in love with her, not really. He had always had a sense things were going really nowhere but he couldn't tell it until that moment, and was not able to understand why it was so. They had enjoyed good times, he was always eager to see her, and he missed her... for a while, but if they didn't see each other, he tended to forget her... He got out of the bathtub, managing not to flood the entire room and put on a towel. He looked at the mirror: no markings on his face that were not there that same morning, no sign that he had just been fucked and dumped in a matter of minutes, not even hours. He got out of the bathroom and realised he hadn't closed the blinds. Nevermind, he thought. The house is not really exposed, and I don't need light. He didn't feel like turning them on, like darkness was safer. He got to his room, but realised he was not sleepy at all. He looked at the bed, puzzled, thanking God they hadn't had sex there. Suddenly, he felt the urge to get to work, it happened when his mood was brooding or melancholic. He put on his working clothes and moved to this study. He took a large white canvas, something like three meters high and five meters wide, started to paint, focused only on the work but with only one clear image in his mind: Clara. Clara Oswald, the sweet looking teacher that had started that day in his new school. The one that seemed so stranded by him and concerned about some bloke that wasn't answering her calls. He wondered how she was. He wondered why he hadn't asked for her number, then he thought it was nonsense to thing about calling her in the middle of the night... and of course wondered why on Earth he was really thinking about her at all.

At almost 5 in the morning he stopped: on the canvas, a dark scene, a black background with demons and fire. He was never happy with his work, and that was no exception. He felt stupid, tired, and cold again, realising he had almost hold his breath all that time. He washed his hands as much as he could, before rubbing his face in frustration and weariness. Loneliness and sadness were far from that house, but disappointment, that was burning. He threw his dirty clothes in the corner of that messy study, and got to his bedroom. He had at least to try and sleep for a couple of hours.

But in his half-sleep he only managed to get glimpses of a dark, humming circular room, a mezzanine with round things, and a strange bright tower in the middle of it. The only thing that made sense in that mysterious, cheap sci-fi scenario, was one, and one only: Clara.

Clara, leaning on what looked like a console, Clara smiling at him, Clara...

He woke up with a choked breath, the sun up in the sky and him being late for work.

 

What the hell was happening to him?

 


	3. Stick insects and figure painting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens if you leave too many messages on the Doctor's phone? Let's find out.

Clara got out of the tube station with a broad smile on her face. All her little wonderful being was filled with excitement, and she arrived at her new working place with a little run, greeting the janitors and reaching the teacher's room still smiling.

Basil Nardini was there also. He looked like he had had very little sleep and was very toned-down. Clara had the decency to look concerned and sat next to him. The colleague seemed relieved to have her around. Near. Whatever.

«Hi» he said, with a faint yet sincere smile «You look happy today. Did he reply to your calls?»

«This morning.» she said, getting full happy mode again.

And indeed he had. She had got up her bed after a very disturbing dream she couldn't really remember, but was sure regarded the Doctor. While she was having breakfast and deciding if it was wise to try and call him again, her phone started to ring. A stick-insect came up on the display and she almost spit her coffee back in its mug.

«Doctor? Where have you been? I've tried to call you all day yesterday!» she protested.

«I know, Clara, you left dozens of messages. The TARDIS refused to let me hear the last ones, and frankly I am really grateful for that.» he replied.

Clara felt a flooding relaxing sensation through her veins. Good old stubborn impatient grumpy Scottish alien, the relief of hearing from him could have been disturbing if she had really thought about it.

«I was worried!» she protested.

«I have only seen you yesterday, Clara. And I am pretty capable of handling myself, thank you very much.» he replied. Clara didn't repress a fit of laughter.

«Yes, sure.» she noted, with the highest rate of sarcasm she could master. «And you actually saw me a couple of days ago. Why didn't you answer me anyway?»

«I have important business going on, Clara.» he cut short.

«Without me? Don't be silly.» she said, in a tone that could be easily mistaken with a flirty one. Because it was.

She was sure he had suddenly stood up strait and frown. She could really picture him as he was really in front of her.

«Clara Oswald, may I remind you I am the last member of a specie that had the important mission of making sure time was well taken care of?» he stated.

«Doctor, may I remind you that you mess up with time every time a child cries or there is fun to be had?» she replied, in his same tone.

He took a moment to rearrange his thoughts.

«It's dangerous, Clara. I have a duty of care.» he simply said, very serious and concerned now. His voice was low and caring, or at least caring in his own way. She felt his concern, and was a bit worried now.

«I never asked for it, and you know. Let me help.» she said, curling up on the sofa without even realising it.

«No way. You'll stay out of trouble, live your normal human life.» said the Doctor, in a more casual tone. «By the way, how's school?»

She raised an eyebrow.

«Something strange must be going on if you ask...» she replied. «Anyway, I had told you I was getting a new job.»

«And how is that going?» he continued.

«Why are you so keen on small talk, Doctor?» she asked.

She could picture him trying to avoid her stare, even if the were on the phone, by bustling around his console. The noise of the TARDIS started to fill her room.

«You always say I am rubbish at this. At least let me make an attempt!»

When the TARDIS materialised in her living room she got in straight away. There he was, with is skinny black jeans and velvet jacket and straight-to-the-collar buttoned shirt. His cologne was the right one. She smiled broadly.

«You look happy. Work must be nice.» he said, walking around the console to keep a distance.

«You know, there is a guy who resembles you a lot in my school.» she said, trying to meddle with the console, with the only purpose of getting him near enough to stop her.

«Really?» he asked, not really interested «Human perception is not really legendary. I don't think he really resembles me much.»

«I can assure you that the two of you are practically identical. Maybe he's more elegant and gentle than you...» she added, with nonchalance. A shade of jealousy tainted his eyes.

«Another PE teacher?» he asked, stepping away again, to the mezzanine. She followed him.

«Danny was a Maths teacher, and no, Basil's not a PE teacher. He's an Art teacher.» she explained. He stopped so suddenly she almost stumbled upon him.

«Basil?» he asked, as he had never heard such a stupid name. She raised an eyebrow.

«Yes, Basil Nardini. Italian, I guess, in a small part at least.» she said.

«Is he good?» he asked, walking on again.

«I don't know.» she replied, trying to catch up with him. «Today's my second day and...»

She stopped and so did he, puzzled.

«I'm late for work! Give me a lift, immediately!»

After a little bit of verbal fight and exchanges, and her changing and getting ready, the Doctor had dropped her just to her tube station, getting back in time enough to let her catch her train. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, leaving him speechless up until she had already left.

What she didn't see was his face turning grave and concerned, his eyes getting red while the TARDIS de-materialised.

«Good news?» Basil asked Clara.

«I believe so. Just some small talk, but at least he replied. I'll call him again tonight.» she explained. «How was your night?» she asked, tentatively thought. She could see he hadn't really slept much and was not in his best mood. Or so she thought, she didn't know him, and he couldn't certainly be the Doctor.

«Not the best, I'm afraid. But I'm a fully grown up man, I can handle it.» he said, with a small shrug. He felt like he really wanted her to hug him, a strong, physical urge. He blushed, and his clear skin betrayed him straight away. She found him really sweet.

«I am sure you can.» she replied, getting the drift that his date had probably dumped him. «Are you really a painter as you card says?»

She had just attempted to change the subject to get him on a more comfortable mood, and he had that urge again, that he resisted.

«Yes, I mostly paint at home but I have a public study were I teach classes. We figure painting with real models, there is a girl coming once a week and...»

His voice was almost musical, as he explained their activities: Clara could feel the passion for art and paintings he had, and she really considered the option of taking a class or two.

He had been back to his calm and serene state she had seen the day before, and they really could consider themselves new friends by the end of the day.

Clara tried to reach the Doctor again after dinner, and he replied to “leave him alone for a while”. They didn't argue but she was hoping for a little adventure by now, so got to bed a bit disappointed.

Basil had spent all evening at his public study, as it was live study night. He had welcomed new students and helped the others while they were sketching the model. After dinner, he slept like a baby, at least until the early morning. He woke up sweaty, short-breathed, heart pounding fast: he had just dreamed about Clara again. This time, though, no cheap sci-fi environment: it was his own study, in his own home, and she was modelling for him, and to be precise she was fully naked. The windows broke suddenly after what could only be described as an explosion, and he had just run towards her to shield her with his body: adrenaline was high and she was clenching to him. Moments expanded in his dream and before he could do anything else they were kissing, so passionately he could almost taste her even when he was awake and alone, fully aware it had been a dream. After kissing her, feeling her soft skin against his and her tongue battling with his, her hands getting just under the thin layer of clothing, the dream had continued still as real as it could seem, detailed and intense, until he had got out of sleep tense and hot as a boiling kettle.

“Good God” he thought, exhaling and laying down on the bed again trying to let the last part of the dream away from his mind and the physical effects away from the rest of his body. That urge for hugging her was apparently the more chaste manifestation of a deeper desire. A cold shower, that was the only solution.

 

Little did he know about Clara's dream that night...

 


	4. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it is Clark Kent!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dream is a wish your heart makes when you're fast asleep...  
> and maybe a discussion you ought to have at some point.

The sun was shining through the leaves, moving slowly and placidly in the spring wind. Birds sang lazily. Clara walked down a small path, realising her feet were naked. She put an hand on a tree, taking notice that even her arm was naked. When the trees began to be more and more closer and numerous, she got a glimpse to herself: she had no clothes whatsoever. She might have felt ashamed or cold, but she wasn't. She kept walking and heard the sound of water splashes and flowing. She continued and finally found the river. There was a girl, she recognised her: her caramel-coloured skin colleague was having a bath in a white, almost transparent dress. A few paces in front of her, and behind Clara and her friend, two men in 19th century fashion were talking, arguing perhaps, not far from a basket full of fruit and bread, leaned over a clear blue tablecloth. Breakfast on the grass.

The two men saw her and turned, both with silvery curls, bound to move gently at the breeze. The two were identical if not for a thing: one with a short yet trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, while the other was clean-shaved. Two pairs of light blue eyes found hers, and she got a very distinctive shiver down her spine. Was it fear, surprise or lust? Difficult to say.

Basil, for Basil was the man with the beard, stood up very smoothly, and went to meet her. He offered her a hand, apparently not troubled at all by the fact that she was naked. The Doctor, the other man waiting for them, was in a more relaxed position and nodded to his “friend”. Basil walked Clara to the spot he was sitting before and helped her to sit beside him, on a blue cloth. She turned to the place she was standing before, and whispered: « _Le déjeuner sur l'herbe..._ »

«Your French is much improving, Clara.» said the Doctor. She turned towards him.

«Not really.» she pointed out. Basil said nothing, and was still looking where Clara was, a moment before.

«Have you ever wondered why nobody recognises Superman as Clark Kent?» asked the Doctor, in a casual sort of tone.

«Have you been verbally abusing young boys reading comic again?» said she, raising her eyebrows.

«I know you did. Well, let me tell you Clara: it is not just that they do not observe, but look, as good old Sherlock Holmes says. There is something else.» continued the Doctor.

«What is it, then?» asked the calmer, lower-toned, gentler voice of Basil.

«You humans believe you're so clever. You take all the evidence and put it together and believe your solution must be the right one. If something is too simple, you simply do not believe it until you bump into it. “Oh, look, that guy is just like Superman.” “No way, he's so different from him: he has glasses!”» he concluded, making voices. Basil smiled, evidently amused, but in a very composed way.

«What is all this suppose to mean, Doctor?» asked Clara, trying to cross her arms but finding the nakedness of her breast most awkward. She blushed a little and let her arms down, while Basil's arm was moving around her waist. She felt like she didn't mind at all.

«This means you are not only not observing, Clara. You are denying the facts in front of you because you think you perfectly know what is going on.» he explained. She was looking at him, and at the same time feeling the pleasurable sensation of the tip of Basil's fingers caressing her hip.

«You mean my first impression was right?» she asked, while that sensation was getting even more intriguing, as Basil's fingers where moving towards her leg..

«And your first impression was...?» asked the Doctor.

«When I first saw Basil, I...» she started, but was caught off guard by the man's hand, now trying to get access, from the lower part of her stomach, to her inner thigh.

«You believed it was me. Then you smelled him, as animals do. Then you saw me, and believed you were mistaken. Is that correct?» questioned the Doctor, and Clara simply nodded.

«That is the point. You simply stopped thinking “why is my new colleague so terribly similar to my friend?” What is the explanation, Clara?» continued the Doctor.

Basil had finally found her, though, and was teasing her deliberately. His touch was gentle yet precise, slow but meaning business. She sighed.

«Good God, you're not even listening to me now.» protested the Time Lord, leaning to the tree behind him in frustration.

Basil got closer to her, nonetheless, kissing the point where her neck met her shoulder. She sighed again, while she tried to lean on him and maybe figure out if what was affecting her so much was affecting him as well. She found his leg but he decided the Doctor's lecture was over now. It was his turn. He made her lean down the cloth, and was over her. She protested his fingers getting away from her with a small grunt, but didn't have to wait long for them to be there again once she was on her back, in the grass. The Doctor, puzzled, only raised an eyebrow and looked at them, whispering something like “one can never speak to humans, all they think about is that...”

«So, did you believe I was the Doctor?» asked Basil. Her “yes” was not just the reply to his question.

«Did I convince you otherwise?» continued him, in that gentle manner, even if his hands were now both teasing her in a very convincing way. As he was not getting any answer from her, he just shrugged and stopped touching her. She grunted again in frustration and got on her elbows.

«All right, all right. I thought you were the Doctor, yes. I believed he was playing some sort of joke to me, but then I saw him, and I have not thought about it again. There are doppelgängers in the world, for no particular reason... I hadn't thought about meeting one of his, that's all.»

The Doctor stood up.

«What were the chances, Clara?» he simply asked. «What if I am not playing a joke? What if...?» he continued.

«What ifs won't get you anywhere, Doctor. Explain!» she exclaimed, while she felt the urge to let Basil finish his business with her. She could not think straight.

«If you only asked me...» he said, not looking at her now.

«As if you would give a straight answer!» she shouted, angry now.

But the Doctor was not looking at her anymore. He was fixed on something far away from there, like something or someone, very distant.

No matter how loud she shouted, he just followed that lead and disappeared.

She turned to Basil, then, still fully dressed, half sat half lying beside her.

«What should I make of you then, Basil?» she asked, guiding his hands towards her thigh.

«What if help is needed, and communication is cut short, Clara?» replied him.

She could not answer: he kissed her on her lips, so passionately and ardently she could not breath at first. His left hand was on her mount of Venus now, his long painter's fingers getting their way between her wetness again, now with more energy yet with the same precision. She cursed Victorian fashion or however it was called in Paris as she struggled to find a way to him to give him the same treatment.

«Oh no, Clara. You must behave. Girls need a good example to follow, in a teacher.» he whispered to her ear, between one kiss and the other, while his right hand was feeling and caressing her breasts and hardened nipples, setting her on fire and vaporising her thoughts. She moaned in his kiss, as he reached inside her, and almost bit his lips as he was exploring and pleasuring her without reserve.

«So close, Clara, my Clara...» he said.

«Don't you dare stop...» she tried to protest, but her words died in her mouth as he finally increased the speed and strength of both his hands movements. The only thing her vocal chords could master was a long, prolonged sound, a mixture of a moan and a sigh and a curse, when she finally came...

 

… and woke up, alone in her bed.

Her breath was short, she was sweating and her heart was beating fast. She took one hand to her chest, trying to regain conciousness, and the other where Basil's was a moment before: she was still wet, as if he had really been there.

She calmed herself down after a while, realising it had only been a very strange, odd erotic dream from a very delusional part of her subconscious.

She tried to call the Doctor, but he didn't answer. She looked at Basil's number for half an hour, but resolved herself to simply take a very cold shower and go to work. Where Basil was surely to be found.

 

The thought of that dream haunted Clara from breakfast to the tube station, to the platform, the “mind the gap” thing and the trip, to the school's entrance to the teacher's room.

Basil was there, clean-shaved, alone, drawing a precise replica of the TARDIS control room on a moleskine.

“Damn you, Clark Kent.” she thought.

 


	5. One True Pairing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helpless, really helpless...

Clara sat next to Basil, keeping a small distance: his perfume was different from before, yet was not exactly the same as the Doctor's. She thought of her dream again but tried to concentrate on the reality around her.

«Nice picture.» she said, as casually as she could. Basil raised his gaze from the page, as he had just realised she was in the room. He smiled with a little shrug, and Clara had great difficulties not thinking about her dream.

«I dreamt about it a few days ago... I guess I watched some sci-fi show and my mind conjured this up.» said Basil, as casually as she did: not convincingly.

«Looks like something out of Star Trek...» she speculated.

«Maybe.» he replied, closing the moleskine.

«Oh, please, I didn't want to interrupt you.» she hurried to explain herself. He smiled again.

«Don't worry, I was trying to remember this dream to forget another...» he confessed, avoiding her gaze.

«What dream?» she asked, a bit too curious perhaps. He seemed very uncomfortable.

«About a painting.» he said. She blushed and tried to change the subject.

«So... » she started, but they were interrupted by one of the colleagues. The other professors arrived almost at the same time, so they had no time to talk again for the rest of the day.

Clara though was more and more curious as the days went by. The Doctor was not answering her calls, and at the same time she received mysterious voice-mails, along the lines of “Clara, don't try and contact me, the situation here is very difficult... I have a duty of care, I cannot put you in danger...” with explosion sounds or kitten meows or any kind of random soundtrack.

Basil was always very nice and charming: he did small-talk as any decent human being, asked her for advice on work matters, informed himself on her general well being as a good colleague ought to do. Yet, there was something in his eyes, Clara could see it, and was perhaps unaware that she had it to: a curiosity, a desire to get closer, to understand what was going on inside them both. They were studying each other without even realising it.

Then Clara met someone: on a normal evening, she was shopping for groceries and a very fit, good looking guy approached her. He used a perfectly normal excuse to talk to her and after a bit of shameless flirting, they settled for a date. A cup of coffee, and Clara was sure the man was absolutely brainless, but was perfect for “another use”. Her female and gay colleagues were quite impressed by the new guy waiting for her one evening after an afternoon meeting, while Basil and the caramel-coloured skin Maths teacher, Asha, were not really amused. He was jealous, of course, and concerned about his demeanour, while Asha was definitely supporting Basil's cause with her. Not that there was a cause, but she had this idea of matchmaking them together, as she had noticed them both studying each other.

Basil had no luck, in the meantime: no new girl and this very rooted fascination for a colleague almost half his age. He slept very little, drawing and painting during the night, but was always very nice and gentle, and was already kindling the first professor crush on many little girls of the school.

The academic year had started, and both Clara and Basil were on a strange mood. She was not really happy about her relationship and wanted to quit it, even if the sex was very good, while her work was going fine, even more than fine. What troubled her were her dreams. Thank God Dave, the guy she was dating, did not really took notice of her talking in her sleep or during their evenings together, for only one name was whispered clearly, and it was not any variation of David. Basil, on the other hand, dreamt of her every night: sometimes they were normal, everyday life dreams, sometimes they were as hot as hell itself. Asha had tried to make him talk to her, to advice him on how to approach Clara, but she could see he felt inadequate and old.

Things changed one morning, when Clara got out at recreation time to breath some air and give Dave the details of their dinner that night: she was not really eager to go out with him, they could talk of nothing really, he was so dull... she was thinking about ways of dumping him when she saw a woman looking around, stranded. She was tall, very elegant, looking a bit younger than her age, Clara believed, but still about 45 years old. She had short, curly dark hair, and light blue eyes, stunning eyes Clara had to admit.

«May I help you?» Clara asked. The woman got closer.

«Is Basil Nardini working here?» she asked «I would have gone to his painter's study, but I know he would not have listened to me there.»

Clara was surprised and tensed up immediately. This woman meant some business with Basil? Why? And why on Earth was the Doctor not answering her calls? The thing was that Clara was more and more convinced Basil was the Doctor, and for some reason he was either ignoring her and playing well his part (impossible) or something had changed him... she shook herself off her stream of conciousness and nodded, suspiciously though.

«Yes, he's the Art teacher. And you are...?» she asked.

«I... we used to see each other, but... Well, I just wanted to talk to him, and...» the other woman started to speak, but another voice got in the way.

«Why are you here, Frances?» asked Basil.

Both Clara and the woman, Frances, had not heard him or seen him approaching. Clara was looking directly at him, as she was waiting for an explanation, while he was gazing directly at his ex, as to really listen to the excuse this time. Frances was lost for words for a moment, so Basil took over the conversation. He grabbed Frances' arm gently but firmly and escorted her distant enough for Clara not to hear them. They discussed a bit: she was evidently sorry for what had happened and was definitely asking for another chance. Basil struggled a lot not to look at Clara the whole time, as she was the reason why his brain was screaming “no way you're getting back with Frances”. In the end, Basil settled for a dinner, so that they could talk in a more relaxed and maybe private environment. Frances left, not without thanking and saying goodbye to Clara, that replied very blankly.

«So... she's your ex?» asked Clara, in a tone that was not so neutral as she had hoped.

«Yes. She has probably dumped by the other guy she was dating before me and is looking forward to use me again.» he said, watching Frances going away. His words were a little hurt. Clara felt guilty then.

«How are you doing, by the way? This boyfriend of yours?» he asked.

«He's not my boyfriend...» she started, and thought about the Doctor and looked at Basil, and she felt as hurt as him. She was missing the Doctor almost physically and yet the only thing she could think of in that moment was the last dream she had on Basil: a dream that would have made Lady Chatterley blush.

«I want to dump him.» she informed him, and apparently this little revelation made him breath more properly.

«Well, if this is what you want, I suppose... is the right thing to do.» he simply said, but he was struggling not to smile.

«I was foolish to let it get so far.» she explained, blushing a bit and looking at him. «You and Frances... she left you, right?»

Basil nodded.

«When she did, I realised that maybe it was nothing more than infatuation, and sex I suppose.» he said, with a sigh. She tried to concentrate again and she saw his cheeks getting red. Clear skin did that trick. «I didn't want to embarrass her or stay here one long hour and made her beg standing in a school's garden... I'll talk to her tonight.»

They were both supposed to get back inside. She shivered: she had not anticipated such a long time outside. He took his jacket off and put it on her shoulders. His perfume was so good...

«Thanks...» she whispered and he escorted her, with a small pat on the shoulder, back inside, where she gave the jacket back.

«Good luck, then. For tonight.» he said, putting the jacket back on and realising, disappointedly, that there was no trace of her scent on the fabric.

«Thanks. Good luck to you too.»

Asha sighed distinctively and shook her head, in the hall where she had seen them. Helpless, simply helpless.

 


	6. One Night at Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clichés and (good) twists...

Clara had not made an effort. She was wearing one of her best dresses, yes, but not the very best, and not the newest. She had already wore that with Dave, but it was unlikely he could notice it. He was only aware of what she was not wearing. Dave arrived late and they had to hurry not to loose the booking, already in a crossed mood when they sat at their table. He started babbling about something absolutely awful, drinking too much, so Clara was looking around, bored to death. A few meters away from her, she saw a familiar face: she concentrated a bit and when she recognised him, she tensed up immediately. Dave had take no notice of her change, but Clara was sitting straight now. Basil and Frances were having dinner in the same restaurant: he was wearing a suit, not the sharpest one but perfect for him and his physique. He seemed to have made the same decision's as Clara: not much effort, but still... Frances, on the other hand, was evidently trying to impress: she was wearing a dress exalting her figure, with a very low neck line. She was not vulgar but the eyes were driven to the best spots, such as her breasts. Nevertheless, Basil seemed more convinced of his resolution: he was aware that if she had gone to his place, they would have got to bed by then and he would not get another chance to get rid of her again. He turned towards Clara's table and froze when their eyes met. How beautiful she was... how perfectly graceful her little self looked, how terribly lucky and selfish and blind was the man in front of her...

Frances saw him looking away and noticed Clara.

«So, it's the younger one than. Such a cliché, I would not have thought this of you, Basil.» she said, in a very acid tone.

«Clara, are you even listening to me?» asked Dave.

«No.» Clara replied. «No, Dave, because you're the dullest creature in the universe. You can't get a good sentence together if it's not about your looks, the pub, your car or your stupid friends. You're good for one thing and one thing only, as long as you get the best of it. It was fun, I guess, up until I had even to fake it. No way you could try something different than what satisfied your tiny little ego... and you know that thing you asked me about, the one lying on my bedside table? That is the thing I don't need to fake with, because at least it satisfies me when you have your way. You can't even recognise a sex toy, for God's sake, if it does not serve your orgasm. I don't want you near me anymore, your habits, your voice, I am tired and sick of you.»

Clara had finally said it. All that she was thinking about was out. She had not screamed, not at all: she had been deadly without raising her voice.

«Younger one?» said Basil, in a straightforward yet serious manner «If you mean Clara, I can assure you she is a colleague of mine, and if you feel threatened by her it is you're problem. She is not even looking at me. Let us talk about you for a moment. I was good enough as long as your ex, the one with money to spend on you, was not available. I know what I was: good sex, an artist to boast with your silly friends, but patsy enough to enable you to made him do whatever you want. Guess what, Frances, I am not playing with you anymore.»

Both Frances and Dave were stunned. The first one stood up and left after a sharp and hissed “goodbye”, without another word. She would not embarrass herself in front of strangers. She knew what to do. Dave was not so forward-looking.

«What do you mean you faked it?» he asked, as it was not really possible. Clara rolled her eyes.

«I mean that you're not the sex machine you think you are, Dave. And to be fair, I've seen bigger. Now I understand why you need such a big car: compensation.» she replied, crossing her arm, done with it all. Basil, left on his own under the pity looks of strangers, was now listening to them: he could see something alarming in the eyes of that boy.

«How dare you?» said Dave, grabbing her by the wrist almost with brutality.

«You're hurting me, Dave. Let me go.» she replied, a little scared now.

«I think she asked you to let her go.» said Basil, getting closer. Dave stood up, freeing her.

«And who are you? Her dad?» asked Dave, as he was ready to punch him in the face.

«I am a friend, and I do not want to call the authorities.» he replied, in a calm yet menacing tone. Clara stood up and got closer to Basil without realising it.

«Sure, and what would you say? That we discussed?» Dave seemed not afraid, not much at least.

«I could remark that the red markings on her wrist are not caused by a long sleeve or a bracelet.» he simply said. He looked more confident than he was.

«Let us resolve it outside, daddy. I can teach you a lesson or two... See you in the parking lot.» he said, nodding at the exit. The maître came to their table, trying to understand what was going on. Basil left him his details for the bill, and followed Dave to the door. Clara was right behind him.

«Leave it, Basil, there is no need to...» she stared.

«Of course there is no need to fight.» he said, stopping in front of the door but staying in, closing it. «I am not a kid, I do not want to lower myself.»

Clara felt definitely relieved.

«Does he know where you live?» he asked then. She nodded.

«You think he's going to follow me home?» she replied.

«I know his type. When a man lays a finger on a woman, he's capable of very bad things.» he explained. He was looking at the door and his hands were clenching in fists.

«How could I be so stupid?» she said. Basil seemed to want to reply, as to say that he would have expected more of her, but remained silent. He relaxed a bit, and smiled.

«Do you have a place to go for the night?» he asked, back to his nice, mannered and gentle ways. Clara felt something inside her pleasingly shrink.

«Not friends, not at such a short notice... my granny is quick minded enough, but then my dad would know, and since... since the last time we argued I don't really want him to know I need shelter for such a reason.» she explained. They were on a tense kind of relationship since Danny died: her dad was sorry of course, and he was concerned about the people she was going out with, her change of moods and so forth. They had argued, when he discovered of Dave's. He was a sensible man and could smell trouble.

Basil seemed to ponder over something.

«I have a spare room, in my house. It's not much, but...» he started, blushing and cursing himself for doing so. Clara smiled, and bit her lip for a moment.

«Better go, then. He's as dull as a plastic bag but I guess he'll be back soon enough to look for you.» she said, and caught her coat to get out from the other entrance. Luckily, Basil had parked somewhere else.

«Thanks, Basil.» she said. «For being my knight in shining armour.»

Clara's voice and face were sweet as only sins can be. Basil smiled.

«I know you could handle yourself, but...» he started.

«I already said thanks. We'll discuss later about girl power. I hope you have hot chocolate back home.»

Basil smiled more broadly and got her to his car.

He was getting home. With Clara. And they would have been alone, all night. Separate beds, of course. Separate rooms. Sure. He could handle it. Yeah.

Sure.

 


	7. As only Raeburn could have pictured it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art & lust.

The building was somewhat imposing: a large structure of grey stone, with enormous white windows, in the unusual bright light of a Scottish summer afternoon. Clara checked her bonnet again: her maid had assured it to her combed hair, but she was really nervous. The same maid was on her side, looking concerned as Clara was rearranging the shawl on her shoulders. With a gloved hand on her stomach, not covered by her spencer. God only knew how that kind of shrug could be passed as a coat: fashion was complicated in Napoleonic times.

The maid walked her to the door, after they got out of their carriage. They knocked and a very well dressed and wigged butler came to greet them.

«Miss Clara Oswald. We are here for the sitting.» said the maid. Clara smiled nervously. The butler invited them in while he asked them to wait a moment and got upstairs. After a minute that seemed endless, the butler came down again, escorting them to the painter's study.

The room was immense, as Clara had never seen the like. The big window facing south was bathing the entire study in light, and dangerously near it was a big chair, on a small stage. A blank canvas was standing a few meters away, and the rest of the space was elegantly but little furbished. Instruments of artistic value and function were scattered all over the place, with chairs and a sofa specifically left far from what seemed a main central corridor, large enough for a few gentlemen and ladies to perform a counter-dance. Many paintings and portraits were hanging on the walls on different heights, as in a gallery. Clara looked around in pure amazement and then she saw him: a tall and lean figure, dressed in black as in the latest fashion, long trousers and red damask waistcoat, with a clean white shirt and a tailored jacket. He had curly, wild grey hair and piercing blue eyes, with well cared sideburns and a very short beard. He was concentrated on his palette, where his assistant had prepared the pigments and the paint. When the butler announced the lady and the maid, he put his instruments down, cleaned his hand with a cloth and got closer to greet them. The butler, then, left them alone.

«Welcome, Miss Oswald. It is a rare pleasure to receive such a wonderful lady in my studio.» said he, with the most powerful Scottish accent Clara had ever heard, which was not the strongest in the land, but still quite heavy. His tone was graceful and sincere, and she could not stop herself from blushing.

«You are most gallant, sir.» she managed to say, as he kissed her hand.

«It is not as comfortable as one may think to come and sit for a painter to be portrayed by him. Are you nervous, Miss Oswald?» asked the painter. Clara took a breath and shook her head.

«You are a respectable gentleman and this has been commissioned to you by my father. I know you represent no thread to me or my reputation.» she replied. He made his smile a little more naughty than before, with a disapproving look by her maid.

«You are also chaperoned. I do not think you have any ground to feel unease. I must ask you, anyway, to remove your coat and bonnet. We must get a perception of who you are, and I do not believe you keep those indoors.» he explained. The maid helped her get rid of those, assuring her shawl was there to cover her if necessary.

The painter kept looking at her, as he wanted to catch a moment or a gesture, a movement or a look, directly in his memory. When Clara was ready, the painter came closer and took the maid's hand. The girl was stranded, and followed him as in a trance state to a chair far enough to let her watch the entire study and at the same time not enabling her to see properly the chair where Clara had to sit on. The maid sat where she could have a clear view of the painter, but not of the sitter. Then, the painter got to Clara. She suddenly felt really exposed: his gaze was so intense she almost felt naked. Her dress was of the latest fashion, a white muslin imperial-cut dress, with a very low neckline, and thin fabric, so that the eye could catch a lot of details and the mind could guess the rest. The man was very gallant, though, offering his hand and helping her sit on the chair. She smoothed her dress and tried to do the same with her shawl, but didn't cover her naked shoulders, and he got down. He looked at her and then went to the far end of the room, on the other side, to the other window. She could not help but trying to catch his gaze and then, when they finally interlocked their eyes, he rushed to the blank canvas and started to paint the highlights of her face: the forehead, the nose, the chin, without looking at her, without safety net or preparatory studies. He then got to her again, who was amazed and had her cheeks on fire. His eyes... it looked like a storm was living inside them. He got closer again, and the maid could not see clearly, with the canvas covering the scene. He leaned on her, and took the red shawl only to cover her shoulders: the tip of his fingers and the fabric caressed the skin of her arm slowly, and she had to close her eyes to control herself. His perfume was strong and reminded her of the smell of dust after rain or rather the lovely feeling that smell produced in her. It was the first time she had the strong instinct to get closer to a man, to feel his touch or even to taste his lips. He did not ran away, or got back to work immediately. He looked upon her and adjusted her shawl, and then took her chin with gentle touch of his fingers and moved it slightly. He turned her head on the left and lifted that chin, then let her go.

«I am going to move backwards and forwards from this window to the other, Miss. Try not to follow me with your eyes, please.» he said, with the same grace and kindness. She whispered a “yes” almost unconsciously.

He got back to his work: he looked at her and then went back to the far side of the room, only to get to his canvas again and paint. Clara had to stay still, and she managed that, although her soul was in turmoil. Had she ever seen such a spectacle? Was that the power of art that so struck her older relations, when they talked about how old Master's paintings in Italy had affected them? Idealists and fools, that is how her mother called them. And yet, who could really deny that flying Scotsman was a fool? He was “other”: he came from somewhere else, he had been perhaps kidnapped by fairies in his youth and then thrown back into our world. Her mind rushed to images of monsters and wonders she had only read in books, and her heart was pounding fast. Her breath was heavy, as air was getting sucked out of her in anticipation. Yes, anticipation, but for what exactly? She dared looking at him again, at the other end of the place. How could that man be human? He was a great and terrible beauty.

After long hours that seemed to stretch into years and centuries, he got closer to her again. He left the clothe he used to clean his hands, still stained with red and dark paint, and offered a hand. She hardly noticed her maid was gone, when she got up the chair, but she didn't enquire on it. Standing on that small platform the chair was on, she could look at him directly in the eyes.

«You are a remarkable creature, Miss Oswald.» he said, meaning every syllable.

«I did nothing more than sit still, sir.» she replied.

«Yet, you look as if you have been in intense emotion or stress for long hours. Did I cause such inconvenience to you?» he asked, still keeping her hand in his.

«I...» she started, but was lost for words. She let his hand go and caressed his face: she could have cupped it if her hands were not so small. He did not lower his gaze, and it appeared as if he was trying to communicate with her without speech.

«They say, sir, that you can see beauty of souls as well as bodies. That when that beauty strikes you, you react to it.» she whispered. He closed his eyes for a moment and then embraced her, his hand clutching to her, one hand on the strong bones of her corset, the other on her shoulders, now naked as the shawl was at her feet, forgotten. She let her fingers through his hair, softer than she had perceived, and guided his face towards her bosom. She could feel the his eyelashes against the soft curve of her breast, and sighed.

«In dreams we can be whatever we desire, as well as in Art. My brush can make a fishmonger's daughter into a Greek goddess.» he said. His words caressed her skin and made her shiver. «But what can my talents do to make me younger and better for you, miss? For you do deserve youth and perfection, not me.»

He took his head back up, so to look at him in the eyes.

«I deserve nothing, sir. But If you believe my appearance and my soul are worth some of your paint and part of your canvas then I am very well undeserving of you.»

He was the one now to cup her face in his hands, and guide her to kiss him. His lips were soft, yet his beard slightly tickled hers. He tasted of grapes, a rare taste to those days, fresh and sugary. They did not part enough to end that kiss as he gave her another, his tongue finding the tip of hers and the edge of her teeth. She became more audacious and opened her mouth more, so that their tongues could meet. How strange, how galvanising a feeling. Her hand slipped down to his chest, where his heart was beating as fast as hers.

«Clara...» he said, or at least she heard him saying it, for his lips were otherwise engaged, on her lips first and then on her neck and down to her chest, to her breast...

 

«Clara?»

She woke up: the corset was gone, the painter study still there, and yet smaller in size and different in furniture. The painter was there, yet dressed in simpler fashion: a white, stained t-shirt and weary jeans. She got more and more concious of her surroundings: yes, she was at Basil's place. She was wearing one of his Bowie t-shirts and a pair of his shorts, for she had fled with him from the restaurant. He had offered her something to eat, but they were both not hungry at all, not of food anyway. He was nervous, at first, then she talked in her ironic and sweet way, and he felt more relaxed, and appeared so too. He showed her the guest's room, the en-suite bathroom and the drawers with his spare clothing. Just for the night, of course. He bid her goodnight and told her where is room was... only if she needed anything, of course. But they could both not sleep at all. He rushed to his study to paint, damning himself for not showing her the house properly. How silly, how unthoughtful, how rude! Then she appeared, with those clothings of his, lovely and adorable as a kitten. And they talked. He explained some works of his to hers. She asked intelligent question, she was smart and lovely and beautiful... then she asked him not to mind her, that she was interested to see how he worked, to pretend she was not there, as she sat on an ample chaise-lounge. But how? God, how could he pretend she was not there? He started to paint a copy of Henry Raeburn's portrait of Margaret Macdonald, mrs Robert Scott Moncrieff, explaining to Clara how the painter's worked. After a while he got so concentrated he did not speak again and she, comforted by his presence and lulled by his voice before, fell asleep. He heard her sigh in her dream, and seemed to struggle with something or somebody, so he rushed to wake her. She was so close, as she clutched onto him. How thin their t-shirts were. She looked as if she did not want anything or anyone else in the world, and she kissed him. She clasped the fabric of his t-shirt and dragged him towards her, sitting beside her, pressing her lips against his, then looking for his tongue with hers. Basil's brain struggled against his instinct, trying to stop him, ask her for explanation, letting her know his concerns and qualms, but good God how lovely she tasted, how soft was her skin under that shirt, as his hands found it, how intoxicating her perfume was. He could feel her nipples hardening against his chest. She could feel his own body tensing up as a beast ready to pounce on a prey. Passion, that was something he could scarcely control once it had took over. The shutting-up part of his brain at least hoped she was on a pill or something. Protection was far away in his room, and forgotten altogether in a matter of seconds.

She guided his hands inside her knickers, the only piece of garments she had under his clothes. He felt she was already wet and longing. Their kisses intensified, and they stopped only because they were short of breath. As in her dream, he started to kiss her cheek and then her jaw, stopping for a moment as she took his shirt off. He did the same and found her topless as he was, starting to kiss her again yet directly to her nipples, teasing them with his tongue, sucking them as he was tasting pure ambrosia from them. She managed to try and take his trousers off, but he had to intervene on that, leaving them both with only their underwear, soon taken away as well. The low lights of his studio seemed to guide him to the only spots he needed to reach. She was lying on her back and he was sat next to her, when he started to kiss her again. As his lips were tracing the curve of her breasts, his fingers were teasing her, caressing her clit and tentatively searching for a way. She opened her legs and guided his hand with hers. She let a strong moan go when he finally started to mean business, even better than her own dreams of breakfasts on grass. He contented himself to watch her for a few moments, as she got closer and closer to climax, flush on her cheeks, sweat on her forehead, with pupils dilated and lips bitten. Then, on the verge of her coming under his fingers, he stopped. She opened her eyes and protested with a frustrated sound, letting her hands wonder to find him: he was very affected by those activities, as she finally got him. He let her tease him as he did her for a bit, but then freed himself from her grip. He took a small pillow beside them and placed it under her pelvis. Getting on his knees on the chaise-lounge, he finally let her guide him inside her. His thrusts were strong, and his hands was still on her clit, rubbing it with method. Clara adjusted to his rhythm and that sweet wonderful agony ended only when she finally came together with him, their moans becoming screams and curses. She did not let him slip away, not so easily. She scattered the pillow below her across the room and grabbed his hips, loosing her face in the crook of his neck. He hold her tightly to himself, as he wanted her to disappear in him.

They were trying to catch their breath again and regain conciousness, and for long, long moments that seemed impossible: she only wanted him to start again, and he only wanted to please her again. Their eyes met, as he finally slipped out of her. They were lost for words, but their gaze seemed to feel the silence with long speeches. Where would they go from there?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Artist Henry Raeburn was one of the best portrait painters of the entire British history of Art. You can see his study and many of his works and techniques in a wonderful BBC four documentary called "A portrait of Scotland" with our very own Peter Capaldi presenting. The portrait mentioned in this chapter can bee seen here: https://www.pubhist.com/w9985


	8. A painter's hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning afters...

Clara rubbed her eyes, trying not to loose her hands inside the sleeves of the jumper Basil had given her. They had snoozed all the rest of the night in the studio, and got finally up, without hurry: it was not a working day. He had put on boxers and t-shirt and was still dressed that way, with ruffled hair and scruffy looks about him. He had given her some spear clothing since she only had the nice dress she was wearing the night before, not at all comfy enough or warm enough for that morning. So she had that jumper on, a pair of very big but cosy socks and only her knickers, and they were both in the kitchen.

Clara had rarely felt comfortable in that situation: she was the one to run away from awkwardness the morning after, and had only experienced some kind of snugness with Danny. She didn't feel unease in that moment though, sitting there, not talking, and watching him preparing some Italian coffee. He was moving around the kitchen with a moka pot with a drawing of a small man on it, in black and white, with Super Mario like moustache. She was smiling without a concious reason.

Basil couldn't believe his luck. He was sleepy still and yet could not help but feel completely happy. He knew he always thought too good of a situation, that one night together could mean nothing, and yet... she looked so perfect, with her ruffled hair and her big dark eyes, with that jumper way too big for her. He was looking at her as you do with a wonderful work of art you had never heard of but that had struck you powerfully once you discovered it. It was like he couldn't really take his eyes off her.

The coffee was finally ready and he approached her with a small porcelain cup.

«Want some?» he asked, in a low, rough voice. He cleared it afterwords, but the effect on Clara's nerves and lower part of her stomach had already kicked in.

«Thanks.» she simply replied. Their fingers touched as the cup changed owner, and they lingered in that contact for a second too long.

She sat with him at the kitchen table, sipping that coffee in silence. From outside, birds sang lazily.

«Clara...» he started to say, putting down his empty cup. «I...» he started again and then smirked. «It was easier to say in my head, apparently.»

She smiled, and he felt suddenly more and less agitated altogether.

«We have all the time you need. I am still here.» she said, as if he could understand what she meant.

«I don't want this to be just a one night stand.» Basil explained. «I am not very good in relationships as you may have noticed... and this might seem too rush, but I believe you are too precious a person to waste the opportunity to know you better and make you happy.»

She felt her cheeks flushing. How different he was from Danny, or Dave... or the Doctor. Yet, he could be him. He could have transformed himself into a human as he did when he was young and dashing, with his tailored suit and sneakers at his feet.

«I am no better at relationships, apparently.» he said «I am sorry you had to know me as the girl with the friend with benefits...» she said, covering her face with her hair, lowering her gaze. He shook his head slightly and got closer to her, sitting in the chair next to Clara's and caressing her cheek.

«I am no one to judge or give advices. You know me as the credulous, pathetic guy that gets manipulated by any woman.» he explained, and she felt comfortable again. She put her hair behind her ears in a instinctive move, putting an hand on his leg and filling the gap between them to kiss him. He tasted like black coffee.

«You may be no judge, but you're a very convincing knight in shining armour.» she replied, and he laughed.

«What were you dreaming last night? When I woke you and...» he started.

«I dreamt I was in a painter's studio, and you were the painter. It was very... intense.» she told him «Yet, not as intense as other dreams I had on you.» she finally confessed, with a naughty smile. He was pleasantly surprised.

«I dream of you every night, since we met.» he said, in his voice a shade of guilt.

«Nice dreams?» she asked.

«Very nice. Wonderful dreams.» he reassured her. A naughty smile appeared on his face too, despite himself.

Her hand moved up his leg and he kissed her again, a little more passionate than before, cupping her face with one hand and making her sit on his lap with the other arm. She smiled against his lips.

«I still wonder, though, what you can find in a old man like me. You're half my age.» he whispered.

«I was never a girl for toy boys.» she replied, thinking that she could have had worst. Was the Doctor about... 100 time her age?

«And I must confess, I believe you tantalised my dreams since I saw your hands.» she said, kissing his neck slowly.

«My hands?» he asked, his voice not so assured as before.

«You can draw and paint marvels with those, I was wondering what other magic they could do.» she explained, caressing his chest. Only one heart beating, but fast.

«Are you satisfied with the demonstration of yesterday night?» he asked then, trying to sound sure of himself and seductive, even thought you could trace a little bit of shyness inside those words.

«I could use another one, actually.» she replied, helping his hand slip under her jumper and down her spine. He raised an eyebrow and kissed her again on her lips, as looking for her own taste behind the last traces of coffee.

She let her hands explore his skin under his very thin clothes. He could not help to think that the last time Frances had been there they were in such a similar position... and yet on another level and emotions than with Clara. He stopped.

«I have a proposition for you.» he said, with a very interesting light in his eyes. Clara raised an eyebrow and prepared herself to listen.

«It would be most unacceptable to let you go home without even having taken a bath.» he started, again with flushed cheeks yet battling his shyness with a sort of seductive tone. Clara thought about it and then got the drift.

«And I guess you would be an even better host by taking this bath with me... I hope.» she added. He smiled again, and she could help but mirror it.

They got upstairs in no time, and he filled the tub with warm water and the only bubble bath visible around there: it had a nice flowery smell. As soon as he finished those operations she started to take his t-shirt off: he was too tall and they giggled as she finally managed to get rid of it and they both pulled her jumper off.

«I guess in a painter's house all women should be naked and ready to be portrayed.» she said, with the most adorable face ever, at least according to what Basil was thinking. A part of what he was thinking.

«Perhaps. The strange thing is that the painter is also naked now.» he replied, as they both took their underwear off and got inside the bath. She did not lose a moment and sat on him, risking the water to overflow and wet the floor.

«How can a wonderful girl like you be single? Or not have a very fortunate man beside you?» he said, caressing her cheek in such a sweet way she felt her heart pleasantly ache.

«It is a sad story.» she simply said, and Basil looked as guilty as he could be.

«Please, I don't want to spoil the mood.» Clara added «And I could ask the same.»

«I grew up in the 70s but man are not my sort of thing.» he replied, with a wit he had not been using for a while. She giggled.

«You know what I mean.» she stated. He nodded.

«It was quite some time ago now, actually, but...» he started. «It is a sad story too.»

Clara could not help to be curious though.

«I am good at listening.» she clarified.

«She left me at the altar, so to speak» he explained, after a moment. «Of course, she said she was not sure of what she was doing, even if I proposed many months before and we had been together for years. We were childhood friends. Then I discovered that a few months later she had married another man, someone I didn't knew: tall, blonde, an Adonis apparently.»

He had tried not to sound too pathetic or sad about it: it had been a long time ago, but he perfectly knew that he couldn't really find someone else to settle with, since then.

Clara had a sudden thought: it is not real. It is something the TARDIS has installed in his brain, a false memory. Yet, she could see he was sincere, that even if that was probably something imaginary, it had affected him. He had suffered and maybe was suffering.

«Do you remember when the metal man came out of the graves?» she asked. Basil nodded. He had never been so frightened in his life.

«My parents' tombs are empty now, back in Edinburgh.» he whispered.

«My boyfriend had died a few days before. He was hit by a car... nothing unusual, nothing extraordinary. Then he... he saved us. He said goodbye and saved us all.» she explained, and felt so much like crying... Basil hugged her, and the flow of sadness could not be prevented. She cried for long minutes, perfectly aware though that Basil's smell was so much like the Doctor's now: reassuring and warm. She calmed down, smiled a bit of a tearful smile and took a small sponge, floating on the surface, and dedicated herself to him. Her caring hand moved slowly, with the attention and affection he mostly missed. He took that sponge from her and kissed her again.

«No more suffering. Or at least, we can try.» he stated, searching her lips again, and her tongue with his. It was like that night again: no silly tricks, no games, just them. She sat on him, facing him directly, her legs around his hips and his legs under her. Her fingers were in his hair, ruffling them even more than before, her cheeks slightly scratched by his short beard. His hands moved again down her spine but she was the one to take care of him this time. With one hand on his neck and the other sinking down his stomach, she moved her fingers with precision yet without haste. He looked directly at her eyes, his pupils dilating and colouring them black, staining that reassuring yet wild shade of light blue his irises were. She felt him tensing up under her touch and saw his eyes closing and listened to his heart speeding his pace, a grunt searching its ways up his throat. She finally guided him inside her, letting her moan join his. Kissing him as their life depended on it, she started to ride him, first slowly then getting faster and faster, listening to his groans and swearing: he had never heard him say a curse word before. He was begging her now, to go faster and faster, and he helped her so by gripping her hips and her torso and facilitating her moves. She could feel he was almost there, and by moving herself a little bit closer, she felt the strongest rush of pleasure, as she did the night before, letting a cry out and coming with him a few moments later. She slipped away from him, exhausted as he was, but could not help to stay tightly imprisoned in his embrace. Her brain was not functioning well, she thought. It could not be so good.

When they finally regained themselves, they got back to the cosy, snug atmosphere as before. His caresses and touches were caring and tantalising enough to keep her comfortably attended to. They separated just in time to allow them to finally get dressed: she really needed to go home. It was not safe or reasonable to stay over, now, even if it felt so damn good. When they got back to the door, she stole another kiss and then he drove her home. That comforting silence between them lulled her in the short drive, waking her only when they arrived. Clara put a hand on his thigh yet he put his on it straight away.

«Do not ask me.» he said, in a tone that made her shiver.

«Ask you what?» she replied.

«To come up. We started already too quickly, don't you think?»

She pretended to think about it.

«I didn't get my second demonstration.» she reminded him, and he smiled. The urge to drag him upstairs became even stronger.

«Patience, Clara. I swear you won't regret it.» said Basil, kissing her neck.

«So unfair...» she whispered.

«See you tonight?» he replied in her ear.

«Who's going too quick now, professor?» she asked. He smiled and waited for her to get out of the car, with a grip at his stomach. She hadn't said yes. She moved towards the door and then came back to the car.

«Don't be late: 7 o'clock and not a minute later.» she said.

Basil's smile remained on her mind and heart as she took the lift and got back home. She sat on the couch with a huge sigh. What had she done? If that was indeed the Doctor, how could she look him in the eyes when... and how could she find him again? Was he better this way, human and caring and kind and so damn charming? And yet... it was not just the sex, she knew it. Her mind was making fun of her, letting her dream romantic setting and wanting to speak to him all day long at work. They had a date now: that could prove a lot of things.

She had no time to consider other questions, though, as a strange little cube arrived at a few inches from her face, landing beside her on the couch. She took the strange object with her hands: a glass cube with a smaller white glowing one. How did it open? Was it dangerous? It slipped away from her hands and stood in the middle of the room: an hologram suddenly appeared in front of her, full size. The Doctor, or best his image, was in front of her.

«This is Emergency Program Twelve. Clara, is this thing working?» said the hologram, moving around as to establish that a recording device was doing its job. «I hope so at least. Listen, I am in a bit of a mess now and I have to hide myself. Don't worry, nothing too big..»

An holographic ray almost blasted him and fell into her wall without damage.

«Well, maybe a bit. But don't worry. I'll hide the TARDIS and make myself human somewhere very far from you. But, in the very remote case I do not get back to Time Lord form in three months, go and look for me. I am probably somewhere near you, this planet is so tiny. I am about to use the Chameleon Arch technology: I will store my Time Lord essence in my ring. Once you find it, you must simply put it on my forehead. Very simple. If this message reaches you, it means that two years have gone from now and I am still in human form... which is bad. Hurry! Find me as soon as you can! Oh, and duck. Seriously, duck.» he stated, and Clara ducked immediately: the cube glowed again and lightened all the room, disappearing.

Clara thought of the worst swear word she knew, and then let it out freely, remembering she was alone. That was no big trouble, that was HUGE trouble.

 


	9. Candlelit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A table for two.

She had sat on the couch for little more than a second and then had started to walk up and down the room. In human form... for two years? He could be wrong of course. He rarely had a real notion of time, relatively speaking. But there was no doubt whatsoever that the man called Basil Nardini, the Art professor, the charming Scottish guy she had just slept with was the Doctor. What to do now? She had to find that ring. She had to set things back to normal, she knew the Doctor needed his identity back, his TARDIS back. Where was the TARDIS? And how... she had to behave normally with him. She couldn't just sneak in his house and steal a jewel! She had to keep up the pretence. But was it a pretence? Now she understood why he really dreamt about the control room in the spaceship and... good God, that didn't explain her dreams. Was the TARDIS trying to get them together so that she could save him? No way, that ship was so jealous, and she had dreamt of the Doctor in that kind of situations before... She was so confused. And yet... she could not help thinking about Basil. What a stupid name! Of course, he used it after the one he told Osgood. But Nardini, why Italian? Maybe because he said all Scottish people believe good artist are Italian, when they ended up in Florence instead of Inverness. She could not stop thinking about their chats back at work, about him looking at that Francis woman, and then him getting Dave lost and his house, his hands... the ruffled look about him when he made coffee... the way he caressed her back...

She tried to regain herself. She would lie to herself if she said the Doctor never gave her that kind of shivers, but Basil? Well, he had exceeded her expectations for sure. Was the Doctor like that, in bed? Maybe the two hearts...

She got to the bathroom and tried again to get back to her right mind, with a very cold shower. She had work to do. She had to keep going as she was before, taking great care of her human Doctor and get to the point were she could find the ring. And then... she just hoped she was sure she wanted the Doctor back.

“I should enjoy the moment”, she thought. “It is a new relationship, in a way. In more than one way”. Yes, but how would the Doctor react, in the end. For once, she could very well believe he could understand: he was someone else and how could she hurt his feelings? Nah. He would understand, she thought. He must.

She sat at her three mirrors and started to prepare. She put on her best dress and make up this time, looking rather wonderful, to say the least. She got to the balcony and waited: Basil arrived a little early and looked up at her from the parking space.

«You did take my threat seriously.» she said.

«I do not think you are a woman one should quarrel with.» he simply replied, with his hands in his pockets. He had a nice tailored suit, very simple yet elegant, a design t-shirt under it and his scruffy hair as wild as ever. She sighed.

«Would you like to come up? Or it is still too early?» she asked.

«I wouldn't say that now, actually, but... I've got some good plans for tonight and it would be a real pity to be late.» he replied. She smiled, of a somewhat naughty and impatient manner.

«I'll get the coat then.»

Clara took a deep breath. She could do it, of course she could. A nice evening, a proper gentleman, good plans. She deserved it, or at least she decided she could have it, for once.

She was downstairs in a few minutes. The look on Basil's eyes was something of an amazing nature.

«Missed me?» Clara asked.

He got closer and searched for her hands with his.

«Any doubt about that?» he whispered.

«Oh, I wouldn't boast so much.» she replied.

«You should.» he added.

«I'll count this as a compliment.» Clara, for once, felt like blushing, especially as he took her right hand to his lips and kissed it.

«Dinner, first.» he suggested, walking her to his car. It was not a modern one, more of a restored old vintage vehicle. It looked pretty nice, even if Clara was not an expert. He opened the door for her, and she sat first inside.

«Is it a surprise?» she asked «Or should I guess?»

«You're not blindfolded, so you can surely guess.» he said, driving as they were crossing the countryside: calmly and without fret. Clara looked outside but even though she could recognise the neighbourhoods or the monuments or buildings, she could not really tell where they were going. Basil parked the car on a very normal street and seemed to want to open the door again for her but arrived late: she was already out. He offered his arm, then, and walked her down the pavement.

«We will be considered early birds, I guess.» he said. She seemed quite curious: she usually landed from one place to the other and she had to admit she enjoyed the ride with a view this time. They entered what seemed a very elegant yet simple restaurant. A maître, or maybe just the head of the waiting staff, arrived to welcome them both with a strange look of mixed surprise and delight.

«Basil?» he asked, and when his doubt were gone, he laughed and hugged what seemed to be an old friend. Clara felt like giggling: not a hugging Time Lord, but definitely a hugging person.

«Where have you been in the past few months? We were worried!» said the man in a very strong Italian accent. Basil was about to reply, but the maître turned to Clara, definitely amazed.

«My apologies, Miss.» he did a small bow, and Clara definitely giggled. There was something open and friendly about that man, with his bright dark eyes and relaxed manners.

«I see our friend Basil has still got his touch with the ladies...» he added, and Basil seemed pretty embarrassed by that comment.

«Does he?» asked Clara, on her usual bold attitude.

«He pretends he is shy and stuff, but he has also that artist “thing” all the ladies fall for. You seem different, though.» replied the maître.

«Paolo, please.» begged Basil, but Clara was very much interested. How could that man know him? It looked like they were old friends, maybe childhood friends. Was the TARDIS so thorough to have planted so many fake memories around the Doctor?

«Different how?» she asked.

«He brought you here, for a start.» Paolo explained. «And you're gorgeous.»

«Doesn't he bring his girls here?» Clara was amused but curious.

«This is a special place.» said Basil, on a sweeter, lower tone of his voice. Paolo's smile became more affectionate.

«No tourist rubbish for you two, my friends. A true _lume di candela_ dinner, eh?» he added, walking them to what seemed the best, most private table of the room. He lit the candle in the middle of the round table: it was not, as you can see in many other restaurant, a wicker wine bottle with some wax at the top, but a proper elegant centrepiece with the best quality candle available.

«The usual, Basil?» Paolo asked. «If the lady knows what your usual is.»

Basil looked at Clara, and she simply stared back with a delighted, amused smile.

«She doesn't, but I hope she would like it.» replied the Art teacher. Paolo looked at them both.

«Fine, you're already ignoring me, I'd better go...» he simply said, leaving them alone.

Clara's broad smile, as well as Basil's shy one, became a small laugh.

«He's an interesting character for sure.» she said. He instinctively found her hand with his on the table, looking at her fingers.

«We met some years ago in Edinburgh. He's called Nardini too but all his family has always lived in Italy: he's the first to come to the UK. He didn't like the way his life was developing and wanted a fresh start, so he told me when we discovered our surname's coincidence. He worked as a barman in a pub I used to go to and as you can see he's very easy-going. It's easy to become friends with some Italians, and he is one of those. Good hearted, intelligent, hard working.» he explained.

«Is this a special place because of him?» asked Clara.

«This is a special place because I always felt safe and at home here, maybe thanks to Paolo as well. I lived nearby when I first came to London when I was young and then when I moved again not long ago. And I... well, I never brought anyone with me here.» said Basil.

Clara knew this was an important fact, even though he used a very casual tone, and it touched her deeper than she expected. She definitely blushed, and smiled.

The appetizers arrived just in time to avoid the awkward silence: Paolo explained briefly what they were about to eat and informed them of the rest of the dishes to follow, pouring a glass of wine each, and asking Clara to taste it.

«It is the lady's privilege to drink and the man's duty to pay.» said the maître, with the demeanour of a real rascal, then left them alone again.

«This food is amazing!» said Clara after a while, when she had tasted at least something of every appetizer «It's like I never tasted Italian food before.»

«Some Italian restaurant are really just for tourists, but not this one.» replied Basil, as they went on with their dinner.

«So, this is our proper first date. Are you nervous?» she said.

«Well, how could I not be?» he replied.

«But why should you be? You're going really fine for now, and they say a good start is key.» Clara stated.

«I am nervous, because you're wonderful and you deserve the best for you. I am not sure I can be that good.» he said, as he wanted to sound casual again, sure of himself and yet not cold or indifferent.

«You're the one making me nervous now.» she said, blushing again, her heart making a very distinctive jump.

«Let's fight it together, then.» he decided «We talked a lot at work, but still we could find some subject we haven't explored yet.»

Clara concentrated a moment to find something to discuss.

«Why Art?» she said then. «I mean, why did you become an Art teacher?»

Basil thought about it for a second or two, under the very attentive look in Clara's eyes.

«I studied at Glasgow's School of Art when I was a boy. I liked drawing and I believe that could be a nice turn for me. At the end of Art School I started to illustrate books, teaching art classes in evening schools, and I have always been very curious. I took a sabbatical and travelled all around Italy to my relatives there, and found that there was so much to see and then so much that people could discover. I liked raise awareness and I liked telling people about things, and teachers were the first ones to open my eyes. So, I decided to become one.»

Clara was pretty much happy with that answer. The TARDIS did a good job, but she wasn't focusing on that. She knew all that was fake or invented... but was it? He believed it, now, so in a way it was true.

«And you?» he asked.

«Literature can make us travel and develop, and I guess taking care of students is something really rooted inside me.» she replied. Basil was clearly thinking she was being mysterious for some reason but did not say.

They talked for the rest of the dinner, between a dish and the other and barely distracted from each other every now and then when Paolo arrived to give or take a plate. They debated about the school they worked in, about their colleagues and about London, but also about Blackpool, Scotland and Europe, and so many other things they didn't even know how they thought about each other or of the world. Clara was engaged in the conversation and always wanted to give him her opinion, to see how it differed from his. Dessert arrived and it seemed they had just sat.

They finished their meal and Basil gave her the last glass of wine, even if their next stop was a few steps away. They thanked Paolo for his help and Basil insisted to pay for the whole dinner. Paolo noticed before Clara that they walked out hand in hand.

«Where are you taking me now?» she asked, intertwining their fingers. He looked at their hands and smiled.

«In a place of wonders.» he replied, and took her away.

 


	10. Lanterns and mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you like a Museum at night?

They walked down the lane and turned right. They walked along the side of Lincoln's Inn Fields, and when they reached the middle of the road, Basil turned towards the building facing them, on the opposite pavement: apparently, nothing more than a dark grey London block with a whiter, marble facade, at the middle, as a Georgian house had been covered by a different front, like a cathedral.

«Ready?» he asked, still his hand in hers. She nodded.

Hand in hand, they crossed the road. Clara saw the plaque next to the door.

«Sir John Soane's Museum?» she asked.

Basil knocked, and a custodian came to open the door.

«Oh, hello my friend. I was beginning to think you wouldn't come» said the man. He had a normal blazer and a candle-lit lantern, and was about Basil's age. He let them in with a very curious yet casual look at Clara, as to silently congratulate his friend in conquering such a young and lovely girl. But something else in his looked seemed to suggest that he perfectly knew his friend was interested in the inside rather than the outside, in women and art as well.

«Have you ever been here, Miss?» he asked. Clara, smiling nervously, shook her head.

«It is actually open since May 2015. It is a lovely place. Basil helped us opening it.» he explained but Basil himself gestured him to stop flattering him. The man gave them both a little lantern with a candle inside.

«The museum is yours for a couple of hours. See you later.» he said, and left them alone again.

«Did you really help to open this museum?» she asked, in astonishment.

«I helped the curator, and very little, whatever he may say. And now that there is a new director, I just made a phone-call and asked for one last night stroll inside. You can book this place for private receptions, candle-lit only as a policy, but this is something else completely.» Basil replied.

They walked along the corridors and found themselves into what looked like a private 19th century study.

«You like museums at night?» she asked, curious «I've been in a museum at night with my previous job...» she started to say, but thinking of Danny made her a little awkward and melancholic. Basil understood, and after a moment, got near her and took her hand again.

«Museums are wonderful, at every time of day. And yet... there is something so unique in knowing you're the only one in. Nobody else is allowed, you can spend time in this place as Sir John Soane himself was when he lived here. He was a famous architect and a collector, and here you can see all his life work, that he left to the next generations to come. It is... a place of wonders.»

Clara had listened to him not just as you listen to a teacher but as she always listened to the Doctor, and well in a way she was. He was loving every single thing he could discover and mostly wanted to share it with you, because he thought you could appreciate it fully, and so thought highly of you. And you always wanted him to think highly of you.

They walked around, looking at the rooms packed with sculptures, paintings one on the other on panels closable on themselves, and objects of every kind. He was explaining things to her, and Clara had never been so interested in something or someone. Every detail was important and at the same time only him was.

«I sometimes imagined life as a painting.» he started to say, when they reached the internal cloister. «Waiting for people to come and see me. Many just dragged by teachers or friends, or indeed lovers. Those ones not remotely interested in me more than a regular sign on a street. Then, sometimes, someone looks differently on me, in awe perhaps: the colours may had struck your eyes, or fuelled your imagination with dreams of wind, water and leaves.»

Clara was indeed in awe, hanged off his words.

«Or maybe I am a portrait, and you are looking at my eyes, not seeing me but the part of the painter's inside me. Art is something of divine nature... I am always so... » he was trying to find the appropriate word but he failed and exhaled with a self pity smile. He searched for her eyes, as her face was lightened by the moonlight. He was in awe too now: not by her mere beauty, but of her interest, curiosity, soul.

She grabbed his t-shirt, under the jacket, and dragged him down as she stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the lips. He was surprised at first and then, with his free hand took hold of her waist and made that kiss more passionate. They almost blew off their candles as they got closer and their tongues were playing with each other. Short of breath, she whispered:

«Take me home.»

He tried to catch his own breath again, but had a bit of a hurt feeling on his face.

«We have still the best parts of the museum to see...» he started, but she put a finger on his lips.

«In broad daylight, as Sir John Soane liked it best. I love this place and I want to walk through it again and appreciate it with you, but now I really need to just be with you. To make this lovely evening a wonderful one.» she specified, as he was probably thinking he had let her down or bored her by now, which was definitely not the case.

They did not really perceive how they got back to the car: they had only a vague remembering of thanking and saying goodbye to the night custodian and walking down the lane. They drove home in silence, yet even without touching each others' hands or limbs they were connected. Clara did not suspect consciously of the Doctor's telepathic powers, dormant yet working still. They got back to Clara's block and even if they were electrified they surprisingly got to the lift still at minimum distance. As the doors closed they started to kiss again, unconcerned of the security cameras. Her hands were exploring his back under the t-shirt, as his were searching for hers under the dress, just under the shoulders. They regained breath as the right floor. She dragged him to her door and opened it, as he was trying to keep the contact with her: a hand on her back, around the waist or kissing the back of her neck.

As they got in, he looked around in his natural curiosity and Clara had a moment hesitation. Yes, he had never been there. She cleared her throat.

«This is home.» she just said and as she seemed nervous, Basil took her by the hand and started walking around.

«Very nice.» he commented, sincere and with a smile. He started to get as uneasy as her as they got to her room: the bed was wide and inviting, the three mirrors his Time Lord self had remarked more than once reflecting the immaculate sheets. She walked him inside the room herself and started to play with his hair as she kissed him again. He was distracted though: she could almost hear his thoughts running the engines of his brain.

«Basil...» she said, cupping his face to let his eyes in hers. «Don't be nervous, not here and not with me.»

«How can I not be nervous?» he asked, after a sigh. «You're so... wonderful.»

She was lost for words. Clara Oswald didn't really know how to reply. Yes, he was kind and he was charming, and the sex was excellent, but it was not just that. He made her feel special, but not as the Doctor. She felt like a work of art with him, something that makes you short for breath, something to cherish and to care for. He wanted to do things properly, because he really loved her, and maybe didn't fully realise it.

«So are you... and we decided to fight against awkwardness as I remember.» she replied.

She kissed him again, now with a different understanding.

His hands ran down her sides with a romantic sort of delicacy, and with slow but determined movement opened the zip of her dress. She let his jacket slip off his shoulders, and both of their pieces of clothing fell down on the floor. They stopped kissing only to take his t-shirt off too, and their chest finally were against each other. He could feel her nipples hardening underneath the thin fabric of her bra, that he took off with the same precision and elegance. She opened his belt and trousers and let them off too, after they both got rid of shoes. He smiled awkwardly as he took off his socks too, and Clara felt a rush of blood to her head and down her belly as he did so. Good God he was sexy even when he was acting as an adorable dork. She moved towards the bed but he stopped her. Grabbing her hip he took her thigh highs off, raising her right leg first to place it against his hips, caressing her skin and kissing her neck slowly, then the left one.

«I owe you a demonstration, as I remember.» he whispered to her ear, as her cheeks were so flushed he could feel the hot flesh against his.

Basil dragged her to the bed now, but she obtained from him his boxers, that went down with the rest of his clothes first. He sat just in front of the mirrors, and Clara sat in front of him, her back against his chest, and its lower part against his belly. His expert hands got rid of her knickers and caressed the inners of her thighs first. He could feel their heart speeding fast together, their ribcages against each other. With his left hand's finger he was running the curve of her hips, torso and breasts, the areolae and the nipples, as to trace them on a map and then more and more intensely as to mark his presence on her flesh, without resulting harsh. His right hand was teasing her mount of Venus, running slowly in circular movement between the short dark hair around her wetness. He was looking at the mirror and so was Clara, both watching their reflection, the pupils dilated and the flesh tense and longing. His index and medium finger found their way to her clit and started to tease her. She fought the urge to close her eyes and looked at him at work, first caressing and massaging her most sensible parts. As her wetness grew and grew, feeling his erection do the same against her back, she let a moan go as he entered her with the tip of his fingers and more. His head was on her shoulder, lost inside her hair and kissing her skin, sometimes biting it a bit. She felt a lightning bolt of pleasure fill her inside out as he definitely found her G spot, and let go a strong cry of appreciation. Many more followed as he intensified his moves, and she moved her hips first tentatively then intensely to help him in. He then grabbed her hips firmly to raise her enough to penetrate her. They didn't stop at all from then, their arousal intensified by their own image from three different points of view. She pleaded him to go stronger, harder, as he begged her to go faster, and approving of her moves with curses and bites to her lobes, neck and shoulders. He felt he was near his climax but she was struggling to get there too. She took his hand to guide him again to her clit, that he treated again with the strongest care. They both came together with the strongest groans and cries they could master, as short-breathed and distraught by each other as they were. She slipped off him and fell on her back on the sheets, feeling like she had never felt before, that orgasmic pleasure so strong she almost felt like fainting. He fell under her, her torso on his, and it took several minutes for them to regain consciousness of themselves. They had no words to say for a while but when their minds reconnected themselves to reality, he laid his head on her breast, with his eyes closed, his eyelashes and his breath slightly tingling her skin. He was the cuddling sort: somehow Clara had always felt that of the Doctor.

Only, that was Basil. But he was the Doctor too. She closed her eyes for a moment, and tried to feel guilty about it all, but couldn't, for his reassuring voice spoke.

«Are you okay?» he asked. She let her fingers be lost in his silvery curls.

«I've never felt like this before.» she replied, and it was true on many levels.

After a few minutes they switched position: she rested her head on his chest, and after a few moments the sound of his one heart and breath lulled her into sleep.

I would tell you that it was a dreamless night, but it actually wasn't, not for Clara. Thank God it wasn't.

 


	11. Frames and rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A dream is a wish your heart makes..."

Clara walked down the dark corridor. There was a soft light coming from the corner, so she turned left. The room was gigantic, and the ceiling was so high she couldn't really see it. All around there were movable black walls with square holes in them, framed with wooden curls painted gold. On the other side of the walls, facing her from the framed holes, there were people. She believed actually that they were paintings: only when she got closer to a man with a Renaissance robe she discovered they were actual people, for he smiled and nodded to say hello. She walked around in the soft warm light that seemed to come from no specific place, watching young girls play the piano, a family sat on a couch, a man with his horse, an old woman with her cat, a young nude lady sat on a chaise-lounge, and so on. She had been alone all the way so she was taken aback when she found out there was somebody else. Had he been there all the time? It was a lean, black-clothed figure, but her heart when from sinking to accelerating when she discovered that was the Doctor. His grey curly hair where wild, the inside of his jacket as red as passion, his eyes bright and blue as the stars. He turned around to face her. He was standing in front of a girl from a very famous portrait.

«The girl with the pearl earring...» Clara whispered.

«Yes, by Johannes Vermeer. Nice man, a bit secretive and not particularly chatty.» he replied.

Clara felt like seeing an old friend again after a long separation. It was not really like she hadn't seen him: she was actually dreaming and she knew that, while resting against his chest in her beedroom. But that chest had only one heart, the man in front of her had two. Clara nodded to the girl, that smiled a bit.

«Isn't it odd that such a nice, pretty lady is only remembered by her earring?» the Doctor asked, more as a statement really. Clara frowned.

«Well, it's the title of the painting...» she tried to say, to avoid an argument she felt was coming out.

«Have you even thought about finding my ring?» he asked, with a sharp yet urgent tone of a panicking man.

«I had no time!» she exclaimed, sounding to herself to much as one woman trying to justify herself for her own true guilts. The girl with the pearl earring went away, and so did all the other people in the frames... except one. Only one, at the end of the corridor, staied still, as it had stood still all the time before. A light was on it: painted in large and thin brush strokes, there was Basil's portrait. The Doctor, looking tired and worried, showed her the way she could easily see in front of her raising his arm and indicating the painting with his eyes. They got closer. Basil was sat on a windowsill, with a cup of coffee in his hands, still warm as the steam was delicately pictured, with his blue suit, a black shirt and striped socks on his feet.

«It's you, Doctor. I can't just get inside your house and look for a jewel. You'll think I am not in love with you, that you're just the man I sleep with, and that I am a thief. What kind of excuse I can make up for that? I must make a plan.» she explained, without really realising what she had said. Her Doctor would have just skirted the issue, but he looked tired and worried.

«Do you love me, Clara?» he asked.

She blushed, but something in this dream made her braver and more direct.

«Yes, I do.» she replied, taking his hand. «I don't want to make you suffer, even if Basil is not exactly you. Yet you are there and I can't...»

She had to stop talking, for there were strange movements behind them. They turned and all the people inside the painting where slowly marching towards them. When they looked at them, Clara and the Doctor found their eyes were blank and their teeth were sharp.

«God, I miss this...» she whispered. The Doctor didn't had time to tell her to run, for the portraits speeded up and caught him.

«Doctor!» she screamed, as their enemies got to her too. She called for him again and again, choking and unable to catch her breath again, then...

 

«Clara?» said a kind, warm voice. 

Clara woke up only to find herself in her bed again, breathing fast, panicked. She turned towards the man next to her: the short beard he had around his jaw line got her back to the real world. She tried to find comfort in his embrace, and his perfume was strong and reassuring. God, she missed him. She missed her Doctor, and in that moment she felt as vulnerable and alone as ever. He stroke her hair, kissed her temple and cheek. Her Doctor would never do that... or would he, if he stopped worring about all the silly, wonderful things inside his head? She was sobbing and was not even realising how. Basil let her cry all the tears she needed to get out of her eyes, and when she was calmer, he caressed those tears away with his thumbs.

«It was only a bad dream. I'm here.» he whispered, with a smile. She nodded, and gave him a sigh with her own smile.

«I know.You're always here.» she replied, putting her hand on her own heart, then on his, with a melancholic look.

Basil didn't understand, but perhaps the Doctor did.

 


	12. Lazy afternoons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know I posted the previous chapter just today, but it was too short, wasn't it?

Monday was strange. After that long weekend, Basil and Clara were not officially a couple, but they really felt like being together. Asha was so pleased to know she bought them lunch one day. Clara told her after a few days of furtive glances in the teacher's rooms, whispers in the hallways and stolen kisses in the corners. They smiled awkwardly and had a laugh with her of course, during that same lunch.

They both had a lot of work to do at the school now that the school year was on, and Basil was very keen on a lot of things in his Art classes, but Clara found that even more warming. She went there to see how it worked, but she never posed for him there. He was always sketching her, at work or at his or her house, when she didn't look of course, and was not sharing those studies. He had to finish his work before showing it to her. Basil sometimes caught her with a sorrowful look on her face, as there was something she couldn't have back, like something gone forever that made her melancholy. It was gone as soon as he spoke or touched her, but it was troubling him a bit.

Clara was thinking about her “mission”: she had to find that ring and had to turn him back to a Time Lord, her Time Lord. Why was he human though, and why had he not seek for her before turning himself to someone else? He had told her about his human self, when he was running away from the Family of Blood before the Great War, some time before. Clara had never thought about it really, for he didn't like to speak about that much. Now he knew he could fall in love, but... how complicated it all was. She was definitely in love with Basil, but was she because he was the Doctor? What would happen when she got her nails on that ring and brought him back? She dreaded the answer and every time she was back at his place she made no mention of rings or jewellery, and couldn't make herself looking or sneaking around.

«What do you think about the school trip, then?» he asked one night. They were back at his house, on a lazy Sunday afternoon. He was laying in bed on his back while Clara was caressing his chest, both naked and bathed in sunlight, covered only by the bedsheets, with birds singing from outside the windows.

«What should I think?» she replied, taking great care in tracing non existent lines on his skin.

«Maybe it is not as romantic as going on our own, but Paris is still Paris.» he explained, relaxing a bit more and enjoying that moment.

«Have you ever been to Paris before?» Clara asked, with that small part of melancholy in his voice. Of course he has, in many times and with many people.

«I wish I could take this sorrow off you, whatever it is.» he whispered, and she stopped her hands.

«It is not you Basil, I swear, I...» she started, but she stopped her with a kiss.

«I just wished I could do something, even though I know you don't want to talk about it.» he added, and she smiled again.

«I know.» she replied, with a sigh.

They shared a glance, for long seconds, then Clara found herself again.

«I have never been to Paris. I had made plans more than once but I never got there. Have you?» she explained. A former boyfriend, friends, colleagues... every time there was something preventing her. Basil caressed her cheek and put a lock of her hair behind her ear, continuing to cuddle her while he spoke.

«Yes, I have been there more than once actually. I cannot wait to show it to you, and the class.» he replied.

«Paintings?» she asked, as she got closer with him and enjoying his attentions.

«Buildings, paintings, gardens... there are so many things to see. It is where many souls can breath real beauty.» he replied. Clara was about to ask him more about it, but felt like he was saving the best for their departure.

«You'll tell me in a few days...» she whispered, kissing his neck.

«I've checked the room list: we are on different floors.» he said after a few moments. She searched for his eyes.

«The school decided this to let the girls and boys safely separated.» she replied.

«Must we be separated too?» he added, with a more allusive tone. She raised a brow.

«Mr Basil Nardini, are you suggesting...?» she started, with a more malicious and curios grin.

«What happens in Paris stays in Paris, as they say...» he replied, as he recited a rule. Clara let her hand move down from his chest to his stomach.

«And what if the thing happening in Paris was so good it was a pity not to replicate it?» she said, getting way past his navel. She felt his body tense up.

«Then, well... we could try it at home too, I guess.» he replied, taking over before she could let her hands on him.

With a smooth and almost gallant movement, he let her lay on her back and was over her. He kissed her cheeks and lips, then her neck. He got to her chest kiss by kiss, tracing a complicated and curved line down to her breasts: he found her nipples, that hardened against his tongue. He moved down again to her belly-button, without stopping, caressing her hips with the tip of his fingers. He stopped only when she let him rest his head between her legs, slightly opened and bended. He kissed and licked her skin on her inner thigh before concentrating directly on her clit. Clara closed her eyes and made him take over, as she felt him teasing her with precision. He kissed her, tasted her, licked and bit her gently, intensifying his actions as her moans got louder and her fingers gripped his curls more firmly. She begged him not to stop, but he did, only to let himself inside her, moving faster and faster as he too let his growl go, firmly holding her. She protested both times, first with a groan and than with another loud moan. She told him he was not getting away with this, moving on his same rhythm, and finally reversing their position and riding him. Taking his hands in hers, with a wild and excited look on her face, she felt their nails scratching each other's skin as he came inside her with a strong, resonant groan and she felt a direct burst of pleasure from her own core.

Their bodies were still intertwined when they found their words and thoughts again.

«You're going to be the end of me, Clara. You really will.» Basil said, with a broad smile on his face. Problem was she probably would be, and soon now.

 


	13. Smiling and snoring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small thing, for now :)

Basil was not sleeping. It was not the train moving under him that kept him awake thought. He could have asked for a private berth for him and Clara really: there was no school regulation against relationships between teachers, and yet it was something he liked to keep secret from their employers. He later understood they would not probably have had the chance to do to that trip if the school council knew about them.

He was in the company of five very tall, snoring, adolescent boys in a six-bedded train berth on a night journey to Paris, wondering what they were really going to do the following day. Of course, they had to check in the hotel in the 6th Arrondissement of Paris, that they managed to get at a reasonable price, then start their museum tour. They had a lot planned of course, but there are many unplanned things that can surprise you, and those can be the best. Clara and Basil wanted also to surprise the kids with a small trip to Disneyland. What is an afternoon in Paris with youngsters if you can't enjoy a theme park, or better “the” them park? They also had a day planned in Versailles, which made the all class sigh in frustration. A tour to Disneyland could balance that. In the end, Clara and Basil both decided they could very well take a couple of museums off the list, and offer all the young boys and girls a treat with an afternoon on roller coasters, walking around attractions and following parades.

In the privacy and cosiness of Basil's house and study, he and Clara had also prepared a lot for this trip, or best they had talked and talked and decided little for themselves. Clara was eager to get the students to love the city of Paris as part of _Les Miserables_ , as the scene and set for so many novels and stories, as well as art and history. She was trying to keep Basil out of her flat actually: now that he seemed eager to shorten his beard and maybe shave it, he was too like the Doctor to trust herself around him in her own apartment. Plus, if she was around his house there were more chances to find that blasted ring of his, that actually never showed up – or better to say that she didn't really look for it so never found it.

Clara too was not sleeping in her own berth, with the same amount of adolescents, but female and not snoring as loudly as the boys. She picked up her phone: as the Doctor, Basil was not really a smartphone lover, but did understand the basics and his mistakes and awkwardness with them was extremely adorable. Clara texted him.

«Are you awake?» she asked. She didn't venture in sending emoticons or emojis. He was not to be trusted in understanding those. The answer came a little bit after.

«I can't sleep.» he replied. «You?» he added next.

«Same here. I can't tell if it's the train or...» she started to type, then decided to send only the first two words. She saw him typing: a little grey balloon appeared, with three dots moving as a wave was making them dance.

«Are the girls snoring?» he wrote «The lads here are as loud as the train.»

Clara giggled as silently as she could.

«No, not that loud at least. They are as peaceful as a teenager can be. Dana is actually smiling.» she replied.

«As is Billy. Smiling and snoring. Not a great sight I'm afraid. Hopefully she won't see him like this yet, or their blooming romance is doomed.»

Clara was giggling even more, and had to cover her mouth.

«Are you smiling?» he asked after a bit.

«Oh yes.» she replied, and ventured in putting a smiley next to the two words. «Laughing, actually. I hope I don't wake the girls up.»

«I don't like when I can't see that.» he replied after long moments. He had probably wrote a longer sentence and then re-wrote it many, many times, judging by the dancing dots on the screen.

Clara sighed, as her heart made a jump, and ached a little with a mixture of affection and pain.

«You'll see me smile when we get to Paris, I promise» she replied. «I can send you a selfie, if you like.»

He wrote immediately.

«A what?»

«A selfie, I told you what it is.»

The dots danced.

«Oh, right. I have a better idea, though.» he wrote in the end.

Clara waited for an answer, but it didn't come straight away.

She heard no sounds except some steps outside her cabin and then a new message arrived.

«I'm outside, in the corridor. I hope this is your berth.»

Clara smiled even more and thanked the Lord she had not to climb down the highest bed to reach the door. She got out and left the door ajar behind her back.

«Hello stranger...» she greeted him, smiling. He took a deep breath and did the same, before stealing a kiss from her lips. A quick kiss, just in case one of the girl, or boys, were spying from the that berth or another one on the corridor.

«You'll love Paris.» he whispered.

«Judging by your smile, I'd say I certainly will.» she replied.

He contemplated her with that look he always reserved for her, as she was a masterpiece to look at in awe.

«I'd better get back to the girls...» she sighed, and stole a kiss from him. «See you in the morning?»

He nodded, and eased a lock of her hair behind her ear.

«See you in Paris.» he replied, letting a shiver go down her spine.

The night was to be sleepless for different reasons now, for the both of them.

 


	14. A day in Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't seen the Orsay... I'm sorry for you. Get a ticket to Paris right now.

Paris was magical and exciting for Clara. It was no mystery she loved travelling, of course, even if it was just a school trip, but now there was Basil. Charming, enthusiastic, kind and attentive to all the company, from already fascinated girls to overexcited boys, and of course extremely concerned about Clara's well-being too. They checked in the hotel, a nice enough place to stay for the night. His room was directly above hers, and both of them were at the end of the corridor were all the students were sleeping, but conveniently next to the stairs and lifts. They moved quickly towards the first visit: Musée d'Orsay. Basil had decided not to wait for the one thing he considered probably the biggest wonder of the city. When they got in, almost all the students were drawn by his lessons and explanations. He told them about sensuality, censorship, emotions and rebellion, all things they never thought belonged to a museum. Clara was as mesmerised as they were, and daringly took any occasion whatsoever to get closer, to slightly touch his hands with hers, since they could not really walk hand in hand. She resisted whispering things in his ear but to a very meticulous or accurate eye it was clear as daylight that the gaze they exchanged were not those of mere colleagues or friends.

They got to the room were “The origin of the world” was hung. There was a mixture of embarrassment, shock, appreciation and curiosity, that Basil tried to contain: there were other tourists, after all.

«This was a private commission, so you may expect it was just a... well, pass me the term “wet dream” of a dirty man.» he started to say. The boys giggled, Clara blushed a little. His hands were moving slowly but hypnotically, his ironic smile was a killer.

«But great artists have always used their work, however acquired, as a powerful tool for sending messages out there, in the world. Why do you think it is so detailed, and why does it have this evocative title?» he asked, and a few boys and girls seemed to think about it very carefully.

«You said he was a realist, sir.» young Alfred said. He was the usually shy room-mate of the snoring Romeo called Billy. He was already a very fine artist for his age, and Basil had high hopes on him.

«Exactly, Alfred.» Basil exclaimed. «You hit the point straight away. He was called a realist by those who wanted to criticize him, and he had been ill-judged for being too much drawn to the reality of things, without embellishment, without that hint of myth or nuance that made mere pornography into art. So he challenged those who used silly stratagems to paint naked girls and pass them as Venuses or Saints and called this “The origin of the world”: for all men are drawn and come from here, boys and girls, and he was no hypocrite. He was a genius.»

A couple of tourists clapped, as some of the students. Clara bit her lip and tried not to laugh too much or to let her mind slip too much away. Oh, the things she wanted to do to him right now: find a corner in that museum to take him away and... she took a deep breath and followed the rest of the group. She listened to his explanations, and found him as charming as he could be. There was something very Doctor-esque about him, without the Time Lord's air of mystery of course, but really interesting all the same, and fascinating. He wanted to fire up your imagination and yet he was very kind and plain on some levels, something the Doctor might never been. Perhaps this was the chance.

«The real wonders, ladies and gentlemen, are upstairs.» said Basil, pointing at the mezzanine. Some of the rooms had lower light and lower temperature, due to conservation issues. The girls stood in owe to all the watercolours, while the boys focused more on the professor, trying to understand the fascination for such simple and bucolic settings. Clara dared caressing his arm when she saw him almost crying in front of a Van Gogh and a Toulouse-Lautrec. He apologised to the student for having a moment of “Stendhal syndrome” he had experienced before, and ended up firing away all his passion and appreciation for those artist that shaped Art with their work but were never recognised.

«I know you youngsters are drawn more by cinema. It is understandable, and I love that art too. But it is young, you see, as photography is. You can see colour and movement even on a two dimensional canvas, and that is the power of Art. A portrait and a photograph of one person, even in the same posture or attitude, will never be the same, because in the painting you can also find the painter's idea of the subject, the attitude of the sitter, and the painter's himself.» said Basil to a bunch of concerned girls on the verge of becoming his little Red Cross nurses.

«As Basil Hallward's says at the beginning of the Picture of Dorian Gray, “I really can't exhibit it. I have put too much of myself into it.”» Clara intervened. The boys woke up all of a sudden.

«That is why I like Oscar Wilde.» Basil stated. They exchanged a glance, but it was enough. «And you all should» he added, as they headed to the end of the room and to the bookshop and out.

They decided for a walk down the Seine. Basil seemed to be taken away from a place he had never wanted to leave, with a well printed Art book he insisted to buy even if it was complimentary for teachers. Clara stood by his side, reminding him the next day was about the Louvre, cheering him up, at least for a while. The train trip had been exhausting and the visit had been fun but demanding, so the rest of the afternoon was spent walking about, getting some other information from the Basil, occasionally from Clara too. The students were all smiling and some of them engaged in interesting conversations about Impressionists, Woody Allen, Scott Fitzgerald, _Poètes maudit_ , and Basil decided not to take away all the mysteries about Green Fairies at this point: they were too young to take away all the magic from it.

They dined at the hotel's restaurant: although this kind of establishment had improved a lot regarding food for foreigners, it was not the best. No fast food, Basil insisted, and Clara took the occasion to spend some time with the students trying to find nice and affordable places for their lunches, at least. They finally decided to go to bed, and Clara expected all the students not to sleep much, gathering in one room per floor to gossip, chat, drink some alcohol they managed to smuggle around the city. She first thought they were too young and naïve to do anything else, but then hoped they were at least intelligent and wise as they seemed to use protection. Basil, on the other end, embarrassed all the male students providing them with condoms before sending them to bed.

He got to his room finally, as Clara did. They both stared at the bed trying to figure out what to do. They both got their phone and wrote to each other. They smiled, delighted and awkward.

«My room or your room?» she asked.

«I have another idea.» he said. «I'll wait for you at the hotel's bar. I'll be the one waiting in my best suit. Hoping it is not too ragged.»

Clara was stranded for a moment, then wrote something like “Wait for me then” and desperately searched her bag for something nice to wear on the very sexy underwear she packed, which was her only concern, clothing speaking, for that trip. Luckily she had packed a nice black sheath dress, to which she added a pair of simple high heels shoes. She was about to get out when someone knocked at the door. Figuring out probably it was not Basil, and decided that even if it was him surprising her again he ought to gain his reward, she put on a dressing gown and left the shoes aside.

One of her students appeared on the other side of the room's threshold.

«I am sorry to disturb you, Miss...» she started to say. She seemed very embarrassed and anxious.

«Oh, don't worry, Nicola. I was not asleep yet...» Clara tried to make her at ease. «You can come in if you like.»

«No, really, I just... well forget I ever was here.» Nicola said, sighing. Clara stopped after a few steps away from the room's door.

«There is clearly something you want to tell me, or some advice you need. Ask me away.» Clara tried to use her best tone, even if she was eager to get to the lobby. She could hear the lift going down at this point.

«It's just... all the girls are having a sort of party down at the end of the corridor and... I wasn't invited.» the girl explained, trying not to sound too disappointed.

Clara felt a little ache at the top of her stomach. It happens to us all at a some point but it always bad. What do to now? Tell her that they do not deserve her as a friend? That after all they are going to be the miserable ones when they grow up while she will become successful? She had a better thought.

«I have an idea. If they are throwing a party, so can we. Get to you room and put on the best of your dresses. We'll meet downstairs in the lobby in half an hour, what do you say?»

Nicola was puzzled for a moment then smiled awkwardly and nodded.

«Thanks, Miss Oswald.» she said, smiling.

«I'll just be Clara for tonight.» the teacher replied with a wink. She waited for Nicola to get to her room and then, taking her gown off and putting her shoes on, she got downstairs. She only hoped Basil would not be too frustrated about it. She knew the Doctor would.

She got to the bar and finally found him. She felt her heart and something down her belly jump in opposite directions. Basil always wore a suit, actually, but the one he was wearing that night must have been Paul Smith. A light grey suit with a simple yet sleek line, a white t-shirt under it with a David Bowie print on it, and black brogue shoes at his feet. He had left his dark coat at the hanger just beside him. He sat at the bar with his blazer opened and a glass of what looked like whiskey but, by the smell of it when she got close, was iced tea.

«I thought you would be sipping Scotch by this hour, yet you're too professional to drink on teacher's duty.» she told him. He blushed, especially as he took a good look at her, for he hadn't hear her approaching.

«You're splendid.» he whispered, putting a hand on her hip and making her shiver. She closed her eyes and sighed.

«I am so, so sorry.» she started, and before Basil could ask, she continued. «I put a young girl's need and dreams before mine. And yours I suppose...»

Basil frowned.

«You know Nicola Murray?» she asked. «The brown haired girl with that shy yet nice attitude?»

Basil nodded.

«One of my finest, but I believe she has better marks in your class. She'll make a fine journalist if she wanted.» he replied.

«Yes... the others on our floor went all “Mean girls” on her.» she explained, but since Basil was still really perplexed, she continued again «They have excluded her from a night party. She was so lost so I though that we could bring her somewhere, have a nice time together and made her the one that spent the entire evening with the charming Art teacher all the best girls have a crush on, including herself.»

Basil almost chucked.

«I am not any girl's crush.» he protested, with a charming smile that said otherwise.

«Yes, you are.» she said, kissing the corner of his lips and taking then her lipstick away from his face.

«Do you hate me now?» Clara asked, waiting for a reproach that didn't come.

«Of course not. You did the right thing, and Nicola's nice. We will have our evening afterwords, I shall say.» he suggested, and Clara resisted just kissing him again, and not at the corner of his lips.

«Now, let's behave. She deserves some really good time now.» Clara said.

Nicola arrived after a little while: she was extremely nervous but was smiling broadly. She blush seeing Basil, as she hadn't anticipated him being there.

«I thought we should treat ourselves with the company of a gentleman...» Clara said, taking Nicola's arm. «This means we cannot go too far or for too long, for we should be guardians to all you students. Still...»

«It is my privilege, ladies.» Basil added, with a small bow, that made them both giggle and blush.

They went just down the lane, to a simple café. First Basil and Clara talked with each other trying to take Nicola into the discussion, and after a while she took some courage and started to speak and added her views to a very interesting conversation. They have to leave when the café was literally closing, and they separated at the stairs of the hotel. Clara did not trust herself to look at him before he disappeared up the steps, and walked Nicola back to her room.

«Thanks, Miss. This was a great evening.» said the girl, hugging Clara. Those were the moments that made her feel proud of her job, and for having delayed the other part of the night. She got back to her room and looked at her phone. She smiled and got a shiver down her spine, full of anticipation.

He was coming down.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a little Nicola Murray that gets some love, because this one is nice!
> 
> I'll update soon, I promise :)


	15. A night in Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, things might get interesting...

When she opened the door there he was. He had barely knocked: she was ready to take him in as soon as he had arrived near enough to grasp him. She gripped the fabric of his Bowie t-shirt and got him, only just missing a tie she could use to drag him inside the room. The door was closed immediately, and Basil had only a moment to realise again how beautiful Clara looked to him. She grabbed her hips firmly as she hung to the double-breast of his blazer and got on her tiptoes to kiss him. Dear God, how she missed that. She had to spend the all day away from that man and the thought of what they might do, and now she had him all to herself. As much as she enjoyed the evening with a nice student and a day surrounded by masterpieces, she now needed something else entirely. Basil seemed to think the same, as his hands moved down to the edge of her dress, tingling her skin as he pulled the fabric up a little. She forced him against the wall of the room, kissing him with all her passion and urge. He tasted of that fresh drink they had ordered at the café, without a hint of alcohol, and so did she. She was desperate to get to his how skin, and yet was not prepared to stop kissing, sucking and at a certain point slightly biting his lips, so Basil decided to take charge. He found the zip of her dress and took it down as slowly as his same anticipation permitted him. Clara pulled off just to let him take the dress off her and to get rid of his blazer. He could barely gaze at her underwear, that he had to explore with his fingers and touch, as she was literally getting all the kisses she had missed giving him that day. He managed to pull his own t-shirt off and to stop her by attacking her neck with his own lips and teeth. He now felt her breasts, half naked half covered by a thin layer of her bra's fabric. Her nipples were hardening against his chest. He could almost see her shiver when he let his fingers beneath her knickers.

«Clara...» he whispered, as she let him take her knickers off and afterwords helped him undoing her bra too. She was naked now in front of him, and she took a step back, to let him admire her. There was pure lust in his eyes, and some small part of Clara was disappointed not to see the infinity and wonder of a Time Lord essence behind them. Never mind, she thought. Enjoy it while it lasts...

She got closer again and opened his belt with slow yet deadly moves. When she got to his trousers she was already feeling him getting hard.

«I have a request... a suggestion more like. If you are willing.» he whispered in her ear.

«I may submit without question, this time... I believe you earned it.» she replied, getting rid of his trousers and his boxers too. He nodded and offered her, from his own pocket, a condom. Not too romantic, of course, but she took her time and fine moves to put it on him, feeling him very hard now, and sensing herself wetter. He took her by the hand and they kneeled on the bed. Basil was looking at something, and Clara smirked as she saw what it was: a big mirror stood right before them on the opposite wall.

«What was your request?» she asked, but he seemed willing to show her rather than explain. His ways were gentle as ever, as he made her turn to face the mirror and standing behind her. He let his hand and fingers caressing her spine, and gently making her bend over. She was surprised as he leaned on her too for a moment, tracking her nipples and breasts, stomach and finally her clit too as he stood up again. He could see him entirely on that position but could barely see herself. He grabbed her hips to move her as he could penetrate her more easily, moving the pillow to ease her position. She saw and felt him caressing her already wet sex with his index and medium finger, his chest and arm muscles tensing up as he did so. She let a moan go as he eased himself into her, his fingers moving steadily and attentively to arouse her more.

Clara had never tried that. Riding a guy, that was her thing, control freak as she was. She didn't like not being in charge. This time, though, she was enjoying the view, and for once was not thinking about Basil: she was looking at how the Doctor would be, imagining not only one heart pumping all that blood to the sex now penetrating her, but two hearts, speeding as her was; not the Art teacher teasing her clit and moving inside her, but the Time Lord. She bit her lip as he found her G-spot, as much as she wanted to scream: even if the girls were not behind what looked like a paper-thin wall of a hotel room, she didn't want them to imagine things. Soon, though, she was too concentrated on herself and her own pleasure. He started to move faster and faster, the bed moving too, even if just a little, his groans deep in his throat as hers were. Too responsible, the two of them. When he came he bend over her, as she protested: she had been close, but now was just not getting there. Without catching his breath he made her turn and lay down the bed, his head directly between her thighs: he did all he could, he didn't spare any trick he might have learned only the Gods knew where. She finally came, unable to contain herself in any way: thank God the all floor was asleep.

It took her less time to regain her wits, as Basil rested his head on her chest. She was playing with his hair and yet could only picture someone else in her arms, someone with the same looks of that man, but something more of him.

«Have I done something wrong?» he asked, after a while. She smiled a little to reassure him.

«No, it's not that...» she replied.

«I know you like being in charge but...» he continued, but she stopped him, putting a finger on his mouth.

«I just wish we were alone and free. Running around the city and kissing somewhere inappropriate.» she added, and she perfectly knew, though she didn't want to admit to herself, that the Art teacher was just part of that someone she was desperately to do those things with: running, kissing... making love with. In the most inappropriate way. Watching the lean alien getting all embarrassed and awkward, until he finally found confidence, and fought with her for who was in charge. A creature made of the wonders of the universe, someone from another world entirely, getting inside her mind, her body, her soul... she closed her eyes but could not shake off that feeling. She liked Basil's nice and gentle manners, and yet there was something too kind about him, something lacking. She could live with a good bloke like him, the kind of man you choose as a faithful husband and good lover in the bedroom, to raise children with... but she didn't want that. She wanted adventure, she wanted to make a difference and not just in her local neighbourhoods. She wanted to see the stars, she wanted to crush down evil empires and help heroes saving lives. She wanted to travel across time and space, meet famous writers and playwrights, see scandals and participate in riots against oppressed people. She wanted Paris, yes, but she wanted to run around with the Fitzgeralds, drinking away their sorrows and dancing inside the Doctor's arms to a melancholic jazz standard. She felt restless, and could not shake that away from her. Basil felt her getting tense again, and as attentive as he was, became the ghost of the man she really wanted: finally, Clara resolved herself to find that ring. As she made him lay down and he let her ride him, she found her resolution as her pupils dilated again and her whole body reached climax before him this time.

What she didn't know was that somebody else was in that town. Walking the streets of Paris, a dark haired woman was fiddling with a golden ring between her fingers. She stopped just in front of the Louvre, kissing the green stone on that ring.

«She's quite the cowgirl, isn't she? So vulgar, so plain. We had better times, and you know it. Do you remember when my daughter... well, that was something entirely other.» she said in a strong Scottish accent. «Just a little hobbit in charge of a ring...I can't wait for her to come and get it.»

She laughed a bit, and some passers by were alarmed by her triumphant screaming to the skies.

«Come to mount Doom, sweetheart!»

She looked at the ring again. It glowed.

«Let's see how you burn...» she whispered to it, talking to the girl in the hotel room.

 


	16. Missed me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double trouble!

Clara looked at her phone. She wanted to call Basil, she thought it was the best thing, then decided to go to his door anyway, and finally to write back to his messages.

«Are you sure everything is okay?» she asked, finally.

«Sure. I'm just really tired and tomorrow we're heading back to London. We'll have more time and we can be less... discreet.» he replied.

They had spent their second to last day in Paris, and Clara could sense nothing different in Basil, not as different as she felt. When he had sneaked back in his room, she had her time to think before finally getting some sleep. The realisation she had had, the fact that she now missed the Doctor, as much as she adored Basil, got almost overwhelming. She had to get to the bathroom and take a long bath to relax. The longing to see the Doctor again had become physiological, and she had shivers down her spine at the mere thought. She thought she missed only the adventure, the excitement... but it was not that. It was the Doctor himself: sharing the same air, the same space, feeling him beside her, locked in and protected by layers of dark cloth as an armour, and yet profoundly real and physical. She remembered his perfume, his cologne or whatever it was that gave him that particular smell, so different from Basil's own. She found herself struggling not to cry: what had she done? As soon as he would get his Time Lord essence back, how would he react? She believed he wanted her as bad as she did, only on an alien and more spiritual way, surely. Would he cast her out? Even the idea of it was unbearable. She needed that ring, and she needed it quick. She got out of the bath as she realised she needed all her focus and strength to get through the days ahead, and she found a small note on the floor: someone must have passed it in under the door. She picked it up and felt another shiver, now filled with fear, down her spine.

 

Basil had left the restaurant of the hotel, were all the students and Clara had dined with him, and got to the door of his room, wanting to write Clara to get there too: not for sex, not necessarily, he just wanted to spend the last night in Paris with her, in a way or another. The following one would have been in the train as the one on the trip there. He was relaxed, confident, and without suspicion. He got inside his room and closed the door, only after noticing there was somebody else there. A dark haired woman, with jeans and t-shirt was looking at him with a very naughty smirk.

«What are you doing here?» he managed to ask.

«I missed you, darling.» she replied, in a very strong Scottish accent.

«I am going to call the police now.» Basil said, taking the phone into his hands from his pockets. She stood up and blocked his wrist, getting right in front of him. She felt his muscles tensed up and his heartbeat accelerated against her chest, now that hers was on his, their faces a few centimetres away.

«No, you're not. You'll tell your splendid little new girlfriend you're not in the mood tonight. And we are going to talk.» she ordered.

The Doctor would not have struggled, to keep Clara safe from Missy. And Basil was not the type to make a fuss. He needed to understand how far the woman he believed left him at the altar could go. Missy took the phone and wrote to Clara, making him watch how she simply said goodnight in the end, and said they were going to see each other in the morning, and maybe talk.

«Forgotten me already, Basil?» asked Missy, with a theatrical pout.

«Don't take Clara into this. She knows nothing of you.» he replied.

«Don't insult me: I know you tell the same pathetic story to let the girls feel sorry for you and get between their legs more quickly.» Missy dismissed him.

«You are the one insulting me now.» he replied, without raising his voice.

«You haven't heard me insult anyone today, Basil, and you know it.» she said, on a sweet yet menacing tone. She kissed the tip of his nose but did not let him go.

«Where is it?» she asked.

«Where is what?» he replied.

She grunted in frustration, her grip harder on his wrist, her lips next to his ear now.

«The big blue box of wonders.» she explained.

«I don't know what you are talking about.» he sincerely replied.

She raised her gaze, than tried to catch his. She let him go but put her hands on his chest.

«Just one heart... such a pity. I do not like you with only one. It doesn't match...» she whispered, taking his right hand and pressing it between her breasts. Basil was stranded and scared: two heartbeat, no question and no doubt about it.

«It is not so fun having you human, my friend. You're nice, of course, too nice in fact. So sweet and calm... where is your rage? Where is the oncoming storm?» she continued, and Basil was not understanding a word. He found something though: a necklace, and attached to it there was...

«My mother's ring!» he said, not taking it into his hand because she stopped him.

«You gave it to me, remember? When you asked me to marry you.» Missy explained.

«I want it back, Michelle.» he said, in a peremptory voice.

«Why should I? It was your most valuable gift ever.» she stated, with a menacing grin of pure victory.

«Because you left me, so you really didn't want to accept it, I guess.»

Missy widened her eyes.

«You want to ask the little cowgirl to marry you!» she guessed, and by his face and demeanour she was definitely right. She started to laugh.

«You're mad, you've always been mad.» he protested, but could not say anything else. She had got closer again, pushing him against a wall.

«Of course I am, darling. And believe me, you will be the one not wanting to marry her when you'll get her answer.» she said, forcing him to kiss her.

He resisted as much as he could, but failed. Their lips longed for tasting each others, their tongues were fighting to get over one another. Her perfume was so strong, and he remembered confused moments of their nights together, their bodies, the sweat, the tongues, the fingernails in each other's skin and flesh... He tried to reach her back and her bottom beneath her jeans but she didn't let him: on the other hand, she had just found his belt and unbuckled it, opening his trousers and made her move, both pleasurable and painful.

«When you'll dream of me, and get hard against her, remember this: we'll conquer the world, together, and in my own way this time.»

It was just a whisper in his ear, but had the power to utterly terrify and arouse him. She let him go, with a satisfied look as she saw the effect she had had on him. He tried to keep her with him but she pushed him against the wall again.

«We'll see each other soon.» she simply said, leaving as fast as a breath of wind. He realised he was alone a second after she had closed the door, and felt ashamed and dirty.

 

Clara stared at the note:

“Get me the TARDIS key and I'll get you his ring.”

There was no need for a signature: someone knew the Doctor was human, someone knew she was with him, and that same someone wanted the thing nobody but the Time Lord could have: his time machine. She could not sleep, as well as Basil, but for very different reasons.

 


	17. Dusty dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting really tense...

The field was ochre and infinite, lighted by the last rays of red sundown trying to plough through the fog of dry dust that painted the view. It was a battlefield: as Basil walked on, he could see his naked feet settle between corpses of young men dressed only with Greek looking helmets. He too looked like the hero from a Jacques-Louis David painting, only a palette and brush as weapons in his hand, and a helmet on his head.

He continued to try and reach the horizon, a hidden line beyond his sight. Another figure was reaching him, walking in the same direction. At first, he thought it was Victory, like Delacroix's Liberty, her breasts exposed and a flag in her hand, raised high with his family's crest, a mane of dark hair dancing in the dust. The only Victory he wanted to see was Clara, but she wasn't there. It was defeat getting closer. Her mane was wild and strong, her flag torn apart, her lean figure completely naked with the sensual yet disturbing features of Klimt's allegories, and it was Michelle. Missy.

She hammered the banner when they met, only a step between each other: her move was full of triumph and joy in the suffering of others. He took off his helmet, and left it at her feet, together with palette and brush. He was defeated. Missy cupped his face with a paternalistic and evil smile, caressing his cheeks as not to console him but to mock him. A few figures approached: men in devilish beards and smiles, rotten and decayed creatures, a kind looking elderly man and a young prince of darkness with the charms of the working class. Basil looked at them all and felt like he knew them, or someone he was before knew them. Missy turned his head by gently pressing his chin to meet her eyes.

When she kissed him, the other figures disappeared, vanishing in the dust as her tongue met his, her fingers pressed his nape and his back and her nails pierced his skin. He let his fingers loose themselves in her hair and his left hand grab her hips and, as Pluto grabbed Proserpina in Bernini's statue, raising her thigh to let the distance from them disappear and their longing bodies to intertwine and interlock.

Somebody else was approaching. A fully clothed figure, completely out of context: a Victorian little lady, with her body covered from neck to toes by layers of cloth, walking proud and straight, with her hair combed and restrained. Something hung to her neck, a little shining object. She was short, small, a picture of virginal beauty, yet with a tumultuous soul rumbling inside her corset.

Missy had strengthened her grip on Basil, feeling him thrusting hard inside her, her teeth sinking in his lower lip, her nails scratching his back to bleeding.

_Never cruel..._

A light voice broke the silence of the wind, and yet didn't. It was all inside his head. He stopped, and turned to the intruder. Clara raised the long thin chain around her neck to let him see what the pendant was: a small, ordinary key.

_Nor cowardly._

He found her dark eyes, and the key turned, getting a shaft of light and shining between them. Missy didn't let him break their embrace, but he reached over for Clara, and so did Missy, her hand clawed like a tiger's paw. Clara took the key out of their reach and disappeared inside a materialising blue wooden box...

 

Clara was sleepless. Basil had stayed over, but it was one of those nights. Since they returned from Paris, something had broken between them. That thin red string that had linked their hearts was fraying. Yes, they still loved spending time together, but now it was not just Clara who seemed distant at times, thinking about other times and how not to hurt the other person in the room, but Basil too. There were secrets packing the space between their souls and it was getting too big and heavy to make them embrace again. Sure, they forgot it at times, they still slept together, but something had entirely vanished. Moreover, he was having nightmares. She could tell, even if he didn't want to speak about them. As he was deep in his sleep beside her, she could hear murmurs and groans, his body tensing up in fear and strain. Sometimes, as in that moment, she found his arms around her and a different tension, making him hard against her back. He was Basil not the Doctor, and he was hugging someone else, not Clara. She quickly pretended to sleep as he woke up with a gasp, and let her go as gently as surprise could make him. He realised his condition as soon as he moved away and stood up, sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment and then leaving her alone, heading out of the room with an expression of guilt and sorrow on his face. She opened her eyes and looked at her bedside table, where a borrowed book stood: a paperback edition of “The Time Traveller's Wife”, with its unique bookmark, in the shape of a TARDIS key.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I was going for Klimt all the way, but then I decided to turn Neoclassicism instead. Does it work? I hope so.  
> The works of Art I am referring to are:  
> [Jacques-Loius David, The Intervention of the Sabine Women ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Intervention_of_the_Sabine_Women)  
> [Eugène Delacroix, Liberty Leading The People](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liberty_Leading_the_People)  
> [Gustav Klimt, Nuda Veritas](https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nuda_Veritas)  
> [Gian Lorenzo Bernini, The Rape of Proserpina](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Rape_of_Proserpina)


	18. Ambush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back...

She tried to look casual and serene, but she was really nervous. Clara had got another note, same handwriting as the first, telling her time and place. Not to call U.N.I.T., of course. She had tried to reach them a few days before, but Kate and Osgood were engaged in a special operation with Torchwood and Clara didn't want to explain everything to unknown officers. She had to go alone.

She was pretending to read her book, where the TARDIS key was still hidden. Time passed so slowly she had to admit the Doctor sometimes was right about skipping some of it, or jumping forward or backwards. Her stomach ached a little at the thought of him. She heard a pair of heels approaching. She continued to stare at the page, without reading it, and waited for someone to seat at her table just outside the café. Thank God it was a public place. When she put down the book to see who it was she gasped.

«Frances?» she asked. The woman in front of her, with a little twig of raspberry pinned to her jacket, was Basil's ex.

«I didn't expect you to remember me.» she replied, evidently trying to sound sure of herself and firm, but really as nervous and afraid as Clara was, as soon as she recovered from the initial surprise.

«What are you doing here? Did you send me the message?» asked Clara, refusing the idea that Frances could be Missy, because she was sure the message could only come from the Time Lady.

«No, but I am acting as a messenger. There is someone else who wants that key, and I am authorised to take it.» Frances explained.

«What if I don't want to give it to you until I see the ring that I was promised?» Clara asked again. She hadn't expected this. Missy was mad, of course, and there was no way one could trust her... but at least Clara could try and negotiate, understand how she had the ring and how to take it without surrendering the TARDIS key. She could fool Frances, maybe, but not Missy with a fake.

«Right, the ring... the one he gave to Michelle.» said Frances.

«Who is Michelle?» asked Clara, then.

«Oh, right, you never met her. She sent me here, Basil's ex.» Frances explained. Clara felt something falling inside her in panic.

«Basil's ex?» she whispered in disbelief.

«Do not tell me he didn't mention her with you. It is the kind of story one always uses to impress a girl.» replied Frances, with a grin. Clara was getting redder on the cheeks, and beginning to feel irritated. So, she existed. Or maybe the TARDIS or the Doctor had intended his human form to be as sceptical and hostile to Missy as possible.

«Of course he did. But he had the delicacy not to mention her name... or rather, he was too concentrated on me.» Clara replied, and tried not to smile too triumphantly in seeing Frances stop smirking.

«I only knew her afterwords, you know. There are things you don't know about Basil.» said Frances.

«Oh, I really doubt that.» continued Clara, in a very assured tone.

«He's not been sleeping too well lately, is he?» Frances asked. Clara had to put on her best poker face.

«I imagined so. Since you receive the first message in Paris, I presume. Maybe he's having second thoughts on you? Or it is the other way round?» continued Frances.

«It is none of your business.» hissed Clara.

«You know, maybe I did a mistake dumping him. He was a very good lover.» the other continued. «Once he got started... he did the best foreplay, with those fingers...»

Clara almost got on her feet, but then another thought started to spring out.

«You are distracting me. You are trying to keep me here using annoying small talk.» she realised. «If you want this key, I want my ring.»

Frances seemed a little scared of that turn, but regained her wits.

«If you want to see the ring, you must follow me.»

 

Missy looking at Basil like she could see through his own flesh and bones. She had appeared suddenly by the door and made herself at home before he could say a thing. The truth was he had dreamt about her. He had dreamt of her, of a non-existing night when they had gone dining in a fine restaurant and got home to finish the ice-cream in the fridge, and ended up naked, on the sofa, with her on top and the neighbours demanding them to keep quite. He had woken up hard against Clara, feeling ashamed of dreaming about another woman.

«What are you doing here?» he managed to ask, and Missy was already a few inches from him, a hand on his chest. On her ring finger, there was a golden jewel with a green stone.

«You wanted this back.» she simply replied. Basil was lost for words.

«And you have dreamt about me, haven't you?» she added, pushing him gently against the first wall available. He was scared, and yet something in the back of his head and on the lowest part of his abdomen was screaming and ready to pounce.

«I love Clara, I want to be with her.» he said, his voice less assured than he wanted it to be.

«You always love your pets and want them to stick around. Some things never change.» she replied, letting her hand slowly caress him down his stomach and reaching just under the line of his jeans.

«You see, that is the problem. They are pets, darling. They are here for a limited time, they have their little lives, and jobs and bla bla bla....» she continued, opening the buttons and finally letting her reach the content of his boxers. «We are made of something else entirely. Stardust.»

He could scarcely move. When he tried, she tightened her grip so that he almost screamed with agony. Missy let him go and threw him on the sofa, just as the night he dreamt about.

«If you want your ring back, I want my last gift from you, sweetie.»

The last word was followed by a strange whisper, a voice much lower, much more masculine and otherworldly. A whisper yet a rumble.

«One last round, hey? One last ride...» she said.

Basil could not control himself. While he was aware of what was going on, of his heart racing fast, of his erection getting stronger and almost painful, of her salty yet sweet-tasting skin against him, it was just as he was a puppet in her hand, as someone was pulling his strings and he had simply to watch and endure pain and pleasure.

She did not undress. She pulled up her skirt to her hips, just as Frances used to do, and threw her knickers away. She did not even undressed him. She just pulled his jeans and boxers down in one movement. Her eyes were pure thunder.

She eased herself on him, getting him inside her without a question's asked. She rode him like he thought he had never been ridden, and she laughed hysterically and madly as he came with a groan just after the door opened.

«Perfect timing.» said Missy, in a triumphant, orgasmic tone.

 

Frances and Clara were petrified. The first was undoubtedly surprised and appalled, but the other was now pure rage.

«I had to know, you horrible beast!» she managed to say, as every fibre in her was screaming.

Missy stood up as getting down from a horse, her shirt flowing down and covering her. Basil quickly adjusted himself, and could not look at Clara in the eye. He tried to say something, but was interrupted. Clara threw him the book and made Missy see the key.

«This is what you want? The TARDIS is probably in the attic, where nobody's allowed. Now give me that ring.»

Missy laughed another horrible, crazy laugh.

«Oh no, darling. You give the key to Frances, I give the ring to Basil. So he can ask you THE question.» she said, taking the ring off and offering it to the only man in the room. «But, I imagine you won't really say yes after catching him shagging another woman.»

Basil was so distraught he had almost stopped breathing. Clara was shaking in despair, pain and rage, but did not move.

Then, something happened.

Frances had jumped on, taken the ring and pressed it against Basil's forehead. Missy tried and stop her, but Clara had just got hold of her with her free arm, as the Time Lady struggled to get free gain and take the key. A light filled the room: Basil was gone. The kind, scared, guilty features of his face were now the lean, sharp, steel ones of the Time Lord known as the Doctor. Without a word, he moved Frances away, he took Missy by her wrist and, without much of a look at Clara took the key of her hand. Missy tried to get free, but his grip was so firm and evil that she could only sneer.

«Doctor!» exclaimed Clara, but he was already gone.

Missy had free hand. And two vortex manipulators.

 

Missy and the Doctor had vanished.

 


	19. Evensong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know this is not what you expected, but bear with me ok?

_Angelus Dómini nuntiávit Mariæ._

_Et concépit de Spíritu Sancto._

_Ave Maria..._

 

Chiara was walking down the right nave of the great Basilica. She couldn't quite believe her luck: not only she didn't have to marry some old pig from his father's guild, but she was following her calling. She would serve the Lord with her life and prayers. Of course, she was still a novice and she was not accustomed to the life of solitude and work that the monastery demanded... but she was really among friends there, despite... well, there were other young girls taken from their families just because they could not afford a dowry that enabled them to marry well, or other true followers of Jesus Christ, or even some that were only after a safe position: she had learned that all must be forgiven, so she hold no grudge to anyone. She was content.

 

_Ecce ancílla Dómini._

_Fiat mihi secúndum verbum tuum._

_Ave Maria..._

 

She had left the outskirts of the city and had ended up in Rome. Her monastery was a few minutes walk away from Saint Peter's Basilica, and every morning she would wake up before sunrise to go there and sing her morning prayers, as well as reach it at sundown, for the vespers.

At first, she had been intimidated by all that splendour and could not understand how such a great monument to men could serve the purpose of God.

Then she met him.

 

_Et Verbum caro factum est._

_Et habitávit in nobis._

_Ave Maria..._

 

Not God of course! Don't be silly. How could God had any business with her? She was a sinner. She knew she was. She had understood as soon as she saw him, the painter. He always tried to pass unseen on the background, but his simple clothings were almost out of tone in that artistic magnificence, and his light blue eyes were so full of rage and curiosity and love that were nothing but unnoticeable. She had seen him wondering around with his eyes and nose up, his grey hair wild and yet soft-looking, a strange, mad sparkle in his eyes. She could see his hands were dirty, but she did not know better by then. Then a few evenings after, she literally bumped into him, as he was not looking were he was going. Apologies were exchanged, and as his hands had stained her white vest, they had the chance to spend more time talking and keep saying sorry to each other. He explained her he was one of Michelangelo's assistants: he was there to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, in the Apostolic Palace nearby. It was tough and exhausting, but it was worth it. She met his eyes, and she knew she was lost forever.

 

_Ora pro nobis, sancta Dei génetrix._

_Ut digni efficiámur promissiónibus Christi._

 

They met again, almost every day. He told her about the great wonders of the world, of his travels, of the people he helped, the beauty he had discovered. He was not pursuing her: he was not that kind of man. There were many, within the Church itself or not, that had a thing for nuns or novices in particular. She could hear them in the dead of night, sneaking inside her sister's cells, thrusting so hard they moved the furniture and made the other girls sigh and moan, with pleasure or pain. But he was different.

Chiara knew her love was pure and yet she knew she was about to take her votes and had to forget the world outside. He brought her to the Chapel: they escaped the evensongs and saw the unfinished work. Chiara cried tears of amazement. One word, only one from the painter, and she would go away with him. But they were watched.

 

 

«I was not honest with you, Signorina.» he said one evening. She had found her old clothes, combed her dark hair as she did before entering the monastery, and they were walking down small alleys of the Eternal City.

«You have been all honesty, Signore. Why would you say such a thing?» she replied, trembling slightly. It was cold.

He took his dark jacket off: it had red lining inside. How strange...

«You and I... You are out of time, and out of space here. So am I. We are made of the same substance of the stars above.» he explained, without explaining. She felt like he was right... and that there was someone following them. He took her arm and made her stop walking. He leaned forward, as to kiss her cheek, but instead, whispered in her ear.

«It is not a shadow, that behind us. I know her. She is no thread to you.»

«But... it might be dangerous for you?» Chiara asked, concerned.

The painter did not reply. She noticed his left hand had a golden ring.

«Not yet.»

They continued walking, and they found themselves by the Pantheon, the ancient pagan temple transformed into Catholic church. The shadow behind them was not far away, and was listening.

«There is something I need you to see.» said the painter, and they got inside the temple.

The Pantheon's dome had, as it does now, an oculus at the centre: the pale moonlight directed a white light beam on the centre of the flooring. Right in the middle of it, stood a big, blue wooden box.

Chiara felt dizzy and had to lean over the painter. Why was that familiar? Her green eyes looked around, and then to him.

«Do you remember anything?» he asked.

«I have been here before, I...» she murmured, but could not say more about it.

The shadow following them reached the temple and waited in the darkness.

«I have something for you.» said the painter, and handed her a locket. Chiara opened it: inside, what looked like a very detailed and precise drawing of a tall man, with curly hair and a long, multi-coloured scarf, and a young, blond girl with a sweet expression and smile. She had the feeling she knew them, but could not say that aloud. A low whisper and a glow seemed to come from the locket.

«Your name is not Chiara. You are not a young Signorina from Rome's nobility and you are not destined to be a nun.» said the painter, now a bit impatient. His eyes were pure fire.

«What do you mean, I...» she replied, but had no strength to defy him.

«I should not have left you here to wait for me. It was a mistake... I managed this so badly, the danger... I had to tell Clara first, I had to seek her first.» he said, as he was talking to himself and not the frightened girl almost in his arms. The name “Clara” seemed to cast a shadow over his entire soul.

«I messed up, I really did. But I am going to make amends this time, at least to you.» the painter continued, and without further warning, he put the locket on Chiara's forehead.

The Pantheon disappeared into light.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I hope to write more soon!


	20. Masterpieces

Clara, in the shadows, was looking at the TARDIS console. The Doctor was standing in front of a screen, apparently unaware of her presence, but wearing a grave look that suggested otherwise. The woman on the other side of the console put a lever down and nodded. Her dark hair was straight on her shoulders, her green eyes bright and full of adventures.

«Are we going to Gallifrey?» she asked.

«No, not Gallifrey. You did have your say there for quite some time, didn't you?» he replied, almost harshly. The woman frowned.

«I liked you before, Romana. When you were just a young hundred-and-something. When you were blonde, especially. When you didn't want to spend your life on Gallifrey» the Doctor said.

It took Clara a few moments to realise: Romana, the Time Lady that had travelled with the Doctor, long before her. Or little before her, in Time Lord's standards.

«I did my best, but apparently it wasn't enough. Then, the Daleks...» Romana started, but he stopped her.

«Not interested.» said the Doctor «I'd better you tell me what you plan to do.»

She changed her face from puzzled to smiling.

«My worst. I wonder if this version of you would approve.» Romana explained.

He smirked.

«It's still me. I always approve when you misbehave.» he replied. Then, something seemed to fall inside him, and he turned to Clara's hiding place. He could not really see her, not behind the columns and in the dark, but he could sense her, and he knew she was there. Romana knew it too.

«You see, Doctor...» she started, pulling another lever, and starting to walk around the console «there is one place I need to go first.»

He looked at the coordinates, raising an eyebrow.

«Why there?» he asked.

«You stole a TARDIS and ran away. I need to do the same.» Romana explained. «Well, I parked one here some time ago, and I plan to take it back.»

The TARDIS they were in landed. Time to say goodbye.

«Maybe...» she started, as she walked towards the door «we could catch each other... sometimes.»

The Doctor said nothing and turned to Clara's place again.

«Maybe.» he replied.

Romana stayed silent for a moment, then smiled a little more sadly this time.

«I missed you.» she said, but with a strange, alien mix of melancholy and happiness.

«See you, Fred.» he replied, and she ran to hug him.

«Never, ever, call me that. I am Romana.» she replied, and left as quickly as she could, so to avoid his eyes, full of the universe's feelings.

 

When Romana was gone, Clara came out of the shadow. The stillness of her friend by the console was more than revelatory about his knowing about her. She was wearing a beautiful dress, with a triangular headgear that made her look like a painting of Anne Boleyn. She did approach him in distance, but he did not search for her eyes. Not after all that had happened.

«You are not even going to apologise?» said Clara, filling the silence with her own sweet voice. The Doctor felt like a knife cutting through his hearts.

«Apologise for what?» he asked, pretending to push buttons.

«I hope you wanted to ask “where to start”, perhaps?» continued Clara, feeling the anger struggling with her own relief he was apparently not angry with her. Why would he be? It was all his fault!

«First, you told me nothing of this business about Missy, about Romana, your lost companion, about becoming human and staying so for years. You then disappear fighting your long time enemy and I have to dug you up from countless records of Renaissance art chronicles. Do you know how difficult it is to blend in an ancient society? Of course not, you never blend in.» she exclaimed, her rage now marching triumphantly «UNIT made me sign all kinds of paperwork to give me that vortex manipulator they managed to sneak of at the last alien encounter.»

She showed him the leather-like bracelet at her wrist. He didn't even give it a look. He raised his left hand, slightly, and looked at his ring.

«I found Romana, I saved her from captivity. Problem was, Missy got there at the same time and wanted to draw her by her side. I had to hide Romana, I had to find a solution, and I had no time, Missy had control of the situation. I made myself and Romana humans so we were not detectable. The TARDIS made up a human background for Basil, and for Chiara the novice, planted seeds in every person that could have anything to do with them, so the story would be believable. We split, to have more chances. Missy found me, but not my TARDIS. She couldn't risk me being back in Time Lord form... I would not cooperate so well. The problem was, the TARDIS, in order to keep me from Missy, made her my ex, and so gave her a breach into my plot. For example... this was Basil's mother's ring. He desperately wanted it back, as he needed to ask you a question.» said then, and Clara, despite her anger, listened.

«But then Missy decided she was done looking for the TARDIS. Was it hidden in the attic no-one was allowed to? Of course not. I programmed her to slip off Missy every time she was getting close. There is nothing in that attic, only dust. I made that story up too. Security measure. Basil thought it was not safe to get inside, so he never did.» the Time Lord continued. «Missy decided to mess Basil's mind so to make him weak enough to manipulate him. He had nightmares about her, induced by her. He was weak, indeed.»

«Stop.» Clara's voice broke. «Don't say such a bad thing about him. He was kind, he was...»

«He was, and now he is not.» stated the Doctor, finally turning to her. His eyes became a shade lighter: how beautiful she was.

«But... he was you, and...» she tried to continue, but could not really find the words.

«He was me and now I am me again. End of.» he said, reprising his operations on the console.

Clara felt her eyes watering but tried not to cry. He didn't want her there, then.

«Please, at least take me home.» she whispered. He could barely look at her.

«I imagined so.» he murmured. She turned to him and got a bit closer.

«If you don't want me around, at least you could drop me somewhere I know, don't you think?» she said, avoiding his eyes. He raised his head, puzzled.

«I...» he tried to say, then stopped and spoke again. «After all that has happened I thought you did not want me around.»

Clara then raised her head too.

«What the hell are you talking about?» she exclaimed.

«Language, Clara.» he could not help himself.

«Don't you dare!» she got closer again and poked him, pushing him a step backwards. «You don't tell me to mind my language! Of course I would not want you around, after all that you have done! You left me alone, Doctor, without a word's explanation!»

«Oh, sorry I didn't think about that on the spot.» he sarcastically replied «I was a bit busy avoiding Missy to take my TARDIS and destroying reality!»

She slapped him.

«Evidently you dealt with her, haven't you? Instead of coming back and ask for my help in finding Romana, you just left me wondering what had happened. You could have been dead for all I knew. You could have regenerated again or not, and if that was not the case and Missy had won, I had no way of telling UNIT or to prepare in any way to face that. The worst thing is you did not want my help in this.» she explained, still very angry with him.

He was stunned, first by the slap, and then by her words.

«I have a duty of care, Clara. I was keeping you safe.» he explained, puzzled.

«I never wanted to be safe, Doctor! I just wanted to travel and be with you, why can't you understand this simple concept?» she exclaimed, frustrated.

«Then why haven't you changed me back as soon as you could? Why keep me human if not...» he let the last sentence drop. He had to mind his language too.

«Because...» she started, but could not immediately find the words. She didn't want to admit her faults. «Because it is so damn difficult to reach you. Because Basil was easier to talk to, because he was a... more accessible version of you.»

There, she admitted it.

«So... you kept me as you preferred me: tamed, user-friendly. Like bow-tie me.» he replied, with a very annoying triumphant smile. «But apparently, something changed.» he added: watching her in difficulty was a tiny bit hurtful, and could not enjoy it fully.

«I... I missed you.» she finally said. «I wanted the Doctor back. I wanted to see the stars again, I could not... settle.»

«So... you want me around, then.» he then stated, with half a smile. She tried to avoid him. She needed to be angry with him, still.

«I am not so sure, you're becoming annoying again.» she replied.

Silence fell between them. The TARDIS buzzed a bit to help them.

«If Basil had the chance to ask you...» he started «what would you have said? Yes, or no?»

He got closer to her, and took his ring off. He kept it between his fingers, playing with it a little and looking at the gem. She discarded the thought he was definitely adorable. She had to let him fight for that answer. As moments passed, Clara could see the Doctor tensing up more and more, and she enjoyed every single fragment of time in watching his torment and curiosity.

She finally took his hands and closed them on the ring.

«Told you. I could not settle.» she finally explained.

She put the ring back on his finger, and they both denied the possible significance of that gesture.

«Are we ever going to speak about what happened between us?» she asked.

«Speak about what exactly?» he questioned, even if he perfectly knew what she was talking about.

«You know what. And I am sure you want me around here, and that is something we need to resolve before this happens.»

He nodded, ever so slightly. He moved away, and put a lever up, then started to type on on the console: coordinates.

«I lied. Up in the attic, no one was allowed because Basil was working on something.» he told her.

«I didn't mean...» she started, but he interrupted her.

«You want me to talk? You let me talk.» he explained. The TARDIS took off.

«Basil felt he was not capable of letting anyone in his life, because he felt a total mess. A failed painter, a daydreamer with nothing more than a simple job and no prospect of future happiness. Then he met a perfectly normal human being: Clara Oswald. As any perfectly normal human she was extraordinary. He could not believe his luck, if he were here, he could not believe it still. He knew he could really create a masterpiece, so he started to paint it. It is still there, in the attic. He never finished it, and you know why, Clara Oswald?» he concluded, as the TARDIS landed. Clara was speechless, and then she smiled, and blushed.

«Because the masterpiece was not the painting.» she replied, and the Doctor smiled, his eyes again filled with the universe's glory.

«Want to see it, anyway? The painting.» he asked, inviting her to precede him outside.

«Maybe not now... I would like to see the masterpiece again, before that.»

It was the Doctor's turn to blush, this time. She took him by the hand, and led him out of the TARDIS, and back inside their masterpiece.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is not entirely over yet!   
> I'll post an epilogue :)


	21. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, we come to the conclusion of the story!

****

Clara combed her hair in a chignon, and checked her tutu. She had thought she would feel too fat between all those ballerinas, but in fact, they were just ordinary girls like her, only definitely more talented in dancing. One of them helped her with the chignon, in fact, as she was still mastering the art of hairstyling. She thanked her and wanted to ask her about something, but one of the others girls started to giggle.

«Oh, it's only Toulouse. Don't mind him.» said the one next to Clara.

Clara widened her eyes.

«You mean the artist, the painter? Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec?» asked Clara, and the girl nodded.

«Funny little thing he is. He draws prostitutes and all sorts, you know? They look almost like us, real _danseuses_. Monsieur Degas, that one is a true artist.» replied the girl, and Clara was not really happy to still talk to her.

Someone knocked at the door of the big dressing room.

«Five minutes, ladies.» warned the man who slightly opened the door. Clara surpassed the girls and got to him.

«Doctor!» she whispered. «Toulouse-Lautrec is here!»

The Doctor, with a little board in his hands, frowned.

«So? Don't let him put his hands under your skirt and you'll be fine.» he replied. She hit him with a fist. He massaged his arm but made nothing more than a sneer.

«We're here to rescue him from that alien disguised as a prostitute, remember?» she murmured.

«Of course I do, and I remember you wouldn't dress up as one, so we have to gain his trust in the theatre, rather than the brothels. Smile, be nice, and he'll give us a session in his study!» he said, and disappeared.

Clara repressed a grunt of frustration and got back to the dressing room. Toulouse approached her. He was probably on the verge of drunkenness, but was nice, after all.

«So you know that tall, thin gentleman.» he asked, and Clara sat, so to meet his eyeline.

«I do, why do you ask?» she replied.

«Are you his lover?» Toulouse inquired. Clara raised an eyebrow.

«This is quite a personal and improper question, _compte_.» she said, smirking.

«That smile is a yes, I guess. I just wanted you to know I am not the jealous sort.» he ensured her, with a hand on his chest, as to promise her his eternal sincerity.

«What if I am?» said Clara, then, but smiled more broadly. He did the same, with a small laugh.

«You have a very sweet face... I am not particularly good with those.» stated then the painter, raising her chin, as much as he could from his height.

«Why do you say so?» she wondered.

«Well, you heard your colleague, I only draw prostitutes. Many of them have lost love and pleasantness along the way.» his voice was more melancholic and resigned. Clara took both his hand.

«You...» she started, but could not continue. She could not tell him about his future, his death, his art... «Listen, why don't I... well, why don't we, my friend and I...»

«You and your thin, old lover?» he asked again.

«Yes, the thin, grey, sexy Dutch that opened the door: why don't we come and visit you in your study? I know it's not in a brothel, so don't lie. We'll visit you and you can prove me if you can or cannot draw sweet faces?»

Toulouse seemed quite taken by that question, and finally smiled again.

«I'll wait for you surely... but if you can come without him I would be definitely more glad.»

Mission accomplished! She only needed to perform on stage now. In front of 19th century ballet fans. That was a true challenge.

 

Clara closed the door behind her, her tutu a bit torn and burned. She undid her chignon and watched the Doctor take off his basically destroyed jacket.

«Thank God they attacked before I danced. I would have make a fool of myself.» she said, laughing the last bit of adrenaline away. The Doctor smirked.

«You know, this is the part when you should say “No, Clara, I am sure you would have been amazing”» Clara explained. The Doctor frowned, as he unbuttoned his almost torn vest, and looked at her.

«But you are always amazing, Clara.» he replied, as it was so obvious he did not need to state it.

Clara felt something pleasantly sink inside her. She got closer and helped him unbutton his vest and take it off.

«One day you won't get away so easily, you know that?» she whispered, as she put her hands on his chest. Two hearts beating, and getting faster.

«Thank God I was there. I spared you the effort, and also saved a few lives, Toulouse's included.» he said, a little less sure of himself now.

«Don't boast, Doctor Idiot.» she replied, as she started to open his shirt. He took a deep breath.

«You are always nervous as the first time.» Clara added.

«It is always a masterpiece. There is always a limited number of those, so you have to pay attention on what you do and how.» he justified himself.

«We are in the most amazing and romantic times and places of space and time: Paris in the late 1800s. You are really an alien.» she giggled a little, but was evidently very glad of that. He felt reassured, but the beatings of his hearts did not slow down. Her hands reached his skin.

He searched for her lips, and when he met them, they tasted cinder, smut, blood and something else, something only Clara's. He cupped her face as she had taken his shirt off, and then she guided his hands to her back, to free her too from her garments. It took them a little more than usual to take their clothes off: 19th century fashion was not the simplest, and did not help that they were so eager to feel each other.

They almost missed the bed as they were still kissing, so passionately she became dizzy. Their hotel room was elegant, and their canopied bed looked like a princess' dream. She had to let him understand she was short of breath with a little scratch to his back, as she caught some air when he laid her down. He did not stop, as he was following her train of thought: he might not be telepathic as he was when he was younger, but he could still work his magic. His lips and hand kissed and touched the perfect spot at the perfect time: the tip of his fingers traced her breasts, her stomach, her hips, her thighs and her sex, as she exhaled sighs and moans. His tongue and kisses on her neck and shoulders made her shiver and hold on him tightly, leaving more than a red line on his back, especially as he made his way into her. She did not need to tell a word: he could sense her every wish and need. Harder, faster, if he was pleasuring her right where she way most... orgasm passed through them like a thunder, like a lightning bolt, as their voices filled that air with their groans and breathes.

They were still embraced, minutes or hours ago, Clara couldn't tell.

«Still a masterpiece?» she asked. He kissed her forehead, with such a sentiment she felt almost overwhelmed, even more than what had just happened.

«You humans are capable of extraordinary pieces of work, you know?» he murmured. «I am glad it took a Time Lord to find yours, Clara Oswald.»

She smiled, and that was the most beautiful thing in the entire city, that night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe this story took me 5 months to write! It wasn't meant to be so long but I enjoyed every second of it!  
> I am a lover of Art and paintings and this was quite a journey inside one of my greatest passions. I hope you all liked it and that this story has been as entertaining for you to read as for me to write.  
> I have another idea in mind and I hope to see all of you again very soon :)
> 
> Special thanks to:
> 
> My lovely beta and Sister (of Demons) for bearing with me even if she doesn't really ship 12 and Clara (but Basil and Clara, maybe... And Richelieu and V, well... that is another story entirely).
> 
> My friends and supporters Cappyforever and Naphta85: I couldn't do all this or make it this far without you and you know it. 
> 
> Inthelittledoctor, Azalays and MarieAnneLouise for commenting every chapter only hours after publishing: let me know what you think of it all :)
> 
> Anyone who read, commented, sent kudos, just stopped by. It is really overwhelming for me to receive this feedback, I always feel like I don't deserve it.
> 
>  
> 
> Farewell, my darlings, until the next adventure!


End file.
